THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Robert  E.  Johnson 


THE     SOPRANO: 


•VfO't'       VTi/^i 


BOST01T: 
OLIVER    DITSON    COMPANY. 

STEW  YORK:       CHICAGO:  PHILA:  BOSTON- 

C.  H.  Dltscn  &  Co.  Lyon  &  Healy.  ].  E.  Ditson  &  Co.  John  c.  Haynes'ft  ca 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1809,  bj 

A.    K.    LOSING, 
In  Hie  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  lor  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


?s 


THE    SOPRANO. 
'»ll   tfat   Intfc   lift   mOr   brntlj    sing  Ja   t^t 

•18PECTFULLY     DKDICATBD 
TO    ALL 

LortRS  or  GOOD  uuato. 


- 


THE     SOPRANO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  AND  THE  GLORY,  THE  GLORY  OF  THE  LORD  SHALL  BE  RB  VEALED." 

The  Messiah. 

11  You  must  not  leave  your  seat.    It  is  against  the  rules." 

"I  know  it,  sir,  but  I  wish  to  speak  to  a  gentleman 
among  the  tenors.  He  has  my  book." 

"  Well,  return  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  scene :  The  rehearsal  room  of  the  Handel  Choral 
Society.  The  speakers :  An  elderly  gentleman,  commonly 
known  as  the  "  alto  monitor,"  and  myself — Number  159  — 
alto,  Jane  Kingsford  by  name.  Time :  Fifteen  minutes 
past  seven,  Saturday  evening,  December  24th,  186 — . 

For  the  past  week  the  newspapers  have  informed  the  pub 
lic  that  on  this  evening  the  Handel  Choral  Society  would 
give  the  "  Messiah,"  with  eminent  solo  talent,  a  large  orches 
tra,  the  great  organ,  and  the  full  chorus  of  the  society, 
numbering  upwards  of  seven  hundred  voices. 

In  just  fifteen  minutes  the  overture  will  begin.  It  does 
not  look  like  it  now.  Who  can  bring  order  out  of  this  chaos 


6  THE   SOPRANO. 

before  us?  The  rehearsal  room  is  a  huge  underground 
hall,  in  shape  like  a  bowl,  cut  in  halves  vertically.  The 
floor  is  in  broad  steps,  rising  from  a  common  centre,  and 
reaching  to  the  wall  on  every  side  save  one.  On  each  step 
is  a  seat  extending  in  a  great  sweep  around  the  crescent- 
shaped  place.  In  the  seats  is  a  solid  mass  of  human  beings, 
rising  tier  above  tier  until  they  nearly  touch  the  ceiling. 
There  are  no  windows  to  the  place,  and  but  three  doors. 
Over  each  door  is  a  sign;  one  reads  "soprano,"  another 
"alto  and  bass,"  and  the  third  "tenor."  All  around  the 
wall,  behind  the  seats,  the  gentlemen  have  hung  up  their 
hats  and  coats,  so  that  they  look  like  a  long  black  curtain. 
The  ladies  have  also  laid  aside  their  things,  but  still  hold 
them  in  their  hands.  When  they  go  upstairs  they  will 
leave  them  in  the  seats  they  now  occupy.  Over  all  is 
thrown  a  brilliant  glare  of  gas-light.  All  the  aisles  and 
passage-ways  are  filled  with  people  trying  to  find  their  seats, 
and  as  they  and  everybody  else  are  talking  as  fast  as  they 
can,  the  confusion  and  uproar  are  perfectly  jolly.  Everybody 
seems  bent  on  saying  all  they  have  to  say,  and  having  as 
merry  and  pleasant  a  time  as  possible.  In  a  few  moments, 
all  this  great  and  noisy  company  will  be  as  still  as  death, 
and  almost  as  motionless. 

Having  exchanged  the  few  words  with  which  my  story 
began,  I  pushed  my  way  slowly  up  the  steep  steps,  reached 
the  broad  platform  on  top,  and  boldly  dived  into  a  crowd  of 
gentlemen,  who  made  way  for  me  politely  enough,  and 


THE   SOPRANO.  7 

walked  half  way  round  the  room,  till  I  came  upon  a  mass 
of  men  seated  by  themselves  at  one  end  of  the  crescent  Go 
ing  down  the  aisle  a  few  steps,  I  found  the  object  of  my 
search,  a  light-haired,  blue-eyed  young  man,  F.  Livingston 
Grinnell  by  name,  but,  for  the  present,  simply  Number 
95,  tenor. 

"  Livingston,  where  is  my  '  Messiah '  ?  " 

11  Your  book  ?    Oh  !  here  it  is,  I  forgot  to  give  it  to  you." 

"  Thank  you.  Meet  me  at  the  Winter  Street  door  when 
ft  is  over.  Will  you?" 

"Yes,  with  pleasure." 

Taking  the  book,  I  found  my  way  back,  and  was  just  getting 
into  a  comfortable  chat  with  my  seat-mates,  when  a  bell  rang 
suddenly.  At  once  all  talking  ceased,  and  every  eye  was 
turned  towards  a  benevolent-looking  gentleman  standing  on 
the  stage  in  the  centre  of  the  amphitheatre. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen  must  find  their  seats,  quickly. 
We  have  only  seven  minutes  left." 

Directly  the  people  in  the  passage-ways  found  seats,  and 
the  whole  assembly  were  hushed  and  quiet. 

"  The  next  rehearsal,"  resumed  the  speaker,  "  will  be 
held  on  Sunday  evening,  one  week  hence.  A  full  attend 
ance  is  desirable.  It  is  now  nearly  time  to  go  upstairs  to 
the  large  hall.  I  trust  every  one  will  follow  their  monitor, 
and  keep  strictly  in  line ;  otherwise  they  will  lose  their  seats 
on  the  stage." 

Having  said  this  he  sat  down.     At  once  every  one  began 


8  THE   SOPRANO. 

to  talk.  The  sound  of  the  voices  seemed  to  break  out  in  a 
sudden  roar  that  drowned  everything.  A  moment  after,  I 
was  made  aware  that  something  else  was  about  to  happen. 
Everybody  was  turning  towards  one  of  the  doors,  as  if  some 
one  was  expected  to  appear.  Looking  up,  I  saw  a  tall,  ele 
gant-looking  man  enter  the  door,  and  walk  slowly  down  the 
steps  towards  the  stage.  He  was  smiling  pleasantly,  and 
nodding  to  the  people  on  either  side,  as  if  he  knew  every 
^one  there.  He  must  be  a  great  favorite,  for  they  all  seemed 
delighted  to  see  him.  Handkerchiefs  were  waved,  and  every 
pair  of  masculine  hands  in  the  house  greeted  him  with  ap 
plause.  Going  up  to  the  gentleman  whom  we  familiarly 
called  "  the  doctor,"  and  who  had  just  addressed  us,  he  ex 
changed  a  few  words  with  him,  and  then  turned  towards  us 
as  if  he  wished  to  speak.  The  applause  at  once  died  away, 
and  nothing  could  be  heard  save  the  dull  sound  of  the  peo 
ple  moving  about  in  the  room  overhead.  As  he  stood  there 
waiting  to  speak,  he  made  a  splendid  picture.  Fully  six 
feet  high,  of  massive  and  symmetrical  build,  and,  as  the 
girls  said,  ' '  with  the  face  of  a  lion, ' '  —  plainly  not  an  Ameri 
can  face  —  thoroughly  German,  and  full  of  genius ;  the  face 
of  a  man  born  to  command,  —  and  he  does  command ;  he 
wields  a  wand  of  mighty  power;  he  is  "the  conductor." 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  must  do  your  best  to-night. 
You  have  sung  the  '  Messiah  '  many  times,  but  this  must  be 
the  best  performance  ever  given.  Remember  the  words 
'  wonderful '  —  '  counsellor,'  —  sing  them  shoutingly." 


THE   SOPRANO.  9 

A  laugh  and  another  round  of  applause  greeted  this,  and 
again  a  spattering  sound  of  voices  ran  round  the  place. 
This  was  at  once  stopped  by  "the  doctor,"  who  rose  and 
said :  — 

"Are  you  all  ready?  Has  everyone  a  book?'"  To 
this  there  was  no  reply,  and  he  went  on:  "  The  monitors 
will  now  rise  and  lead  off." 

Four  gentlemen,  among  them  the  alto  monitor  before 
mentioned,  rose  from  their  seats,  and  three  of  them  started 
at  a  rapid  pace  for  the  three  doors.  Two  of  them  were  fol 
lowed  by  a  long  train  of  ladies,  and  behind  the  third 
streamed  a  ribbon  of  gentlemen.  It  was  a  very  odd  sight. 
If  I  had  not  seen  it  a  score  of  times  I  should  have  laughed 
outright.  But  there  was  no  time  for  laxighter  or  anything 
else  now.  All  the  girls  in  my  seat  had  risen,  and  were 
preparing  to  join  the  stream  flowing  towards  the  alto  door. 
Placing  my  hat  and  shawl  on  the  seat,  I  started  with  the 
rest,  and  away  we  went,  very  much  like  a  skein  of  yarn 
being  unwound.  Down  the  steps,  over  the  stage,  and  into 
a  dark  and  narrow  entry  ;  more  steps  —  up  and  up  we  go, 
all  walking  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  still  as  mice ;  a  sudden 
corner,  a  few  more  steps,  and  we  emerge  from  a  small  door, 
and  are  suddenly  in  a  blaze  of  light,  on  the  top  of  a  steep 
bank  of  broad  steps,  and  at  a  dizzy  height  from  the  immense 
floor  spread  out  beneath  us.  If  this  were  our  first  entrance, 
we  should  be  abashed,  disconcerted,  and  ready  to  retreat; 
but  there  is  no  retreat  now.  Those  behind  are  still  pushing 


10  THE   SOPRANO. 

forward,  and  we  must  go  on.  Walking  along  on  the  broad 
steps,  behind  the  narrow  cushions  on  the  edge,  I  count  the 
numbers  on  the  seats  until  I  find  mine,  Number  159,  last  seat, 
second  row,  next  the  organ.  Sitting  down  on  the  cushion, 
and  putting  my  feet  on  the  next  seat  below,  I  make  myself 
as  comfortable  as  possible,  and  prepare  to  inspect  the  curi 
ous  scene  before  me. 

Immediately  in  front,  and  just  below,  is  the  orchestra, 
extending  from  the  front  of  the  stage  back  to  the  organ. 
On  either  side  is  the  great  chorus.  Opposite  me,  the  sopra 
nos,  two  hundred  and  fifty  strong,  reach  in  a  solid  mass  half 
way  up  the  amphitheatre-like  steps.  Above  them  are  the 
one  hundred  and  fifty  tenors.  Beside,  and  above  me,  are 
the  altos,  rising  seat  above  seat  till  they  meet  the  great 
black  crowd  of  basses,  two  hundred  and  fifty  in  number. 
The  ladies  are  brilliant  in  every  color,  and  the  gentlemen 
are  all  in  decorous  black.  Take  us  all  together,  we  are  a 
showy  and  effective  company.  On  the  edge  of  the  stage,  in 
front,  are  five  empty  chairs,  a  small  platform,  and  a  music- 
stand.  Behind  the  orchestra,  and  reaching  to  the  lofty  ceil 
ing,  is  the  enormous  organ.  Its  huge  silver  pipes  tower  up 
directly  over  my  head,  for  my  seat  is  close  to  the  case ;  in 
fact,  some  of  the  heavy  black  walnut  carving  projects  so  far 
that  a  portion  of  my  view  of  the  stage  is  cut  off.  If  I 
feel  tired  at  any  time  I  have  only  to  sit  round  sideways,  and 
by  leaning  against  the  organ  can  have  a  comfortable  back, 
and  a  splendid  lookout  over  the  house.  Beyond  the  stage 


THE   SOPRANO.  11 

is  a  great  sea  of  faces  all  turned  towards  us.  There  must 
be  three  thousand  pairs  of  eyes  looking  this  way.  The 
audience  always  interests  me.  I  wonder  what  they  are  all 
thinking  about.  Whether  they  are  looking  at,  or  thinking 
about  me,  personally,  never  enters  my  head.  I  am  only 
one  of  the  chorus,  and  I  dare  say  no  one  can  pick  me  out 
from  all  this  great  choir ;  besides.  I  don't  care  if  they  can,  —  I 
have  come  here  to  sing.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  do  so.  The 
"Messiah"  is  to  me  a  second  edition  of  the  Bible,  the  Scrip 
tures  illumined  by  music,  and  I  love  to  take  part  in  its  ren 
dering.  Twenty-seven  minutes  past  seven,  —  we  have  three 
minutes  yet.  I  wish  I  could  talk  to  the  girls  beside  me  ;  but 
that  is  against  the  rules,  and  would  never  do.  See  that 
group  of  men  in  the  orchestra.  How  easy  and  indifferent 
they  look,  sitting  there  with  their  great  brass  instruments 
lying  about  in  confusion.  Poor  fellows,  I  suppose  they  are 
very  tired ;  theirs  is  a  hard  life.  But  I  wish  they  were  not 
quite  so  near  me,  —  they  entirely  overpower  everything  in 
the  forte  passages.  If  it  were  not  for  the  organ,  they  would 
put  me  out  of  the  pitch  a  dozen  times  in  a  chorus.  When 
ever  they  are  very  much  excited,  I  creep  close  up  to  the 
carved  case,  and  can  feel  the  tone  through  the  wood-work. 
The  organ  always  thrills  me  through,  and  so  inspires  me  I 
cannot  go  wrong.  Then  they  have  an  absurd  practice  of 
pointing  their  instruments  over  their  shoulders  right  at  me. 
I  can  look  way  down  the  great  brassy  throats.  I  wonder 
what  would  happen  if  I  should  drop  my  book  into  the 


12  THE   SOPRANO. 

upturned  mouth  of  some  instrument  just  as  it  was  sending  out 
some  double-forte  passage,  —  would  it  blow  up,  or  the  man  ? 
Ha !  ha !  ha !  How  it  would  look  !  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I 

• 

was  not  so  silly ;  I  ought  to  be  more  serious  on  such  an 
occasion  as  this  ;  but  then,  I  am  always  finding  something 
to  laugh  at  wherever  I  am.  I  wish  it  were  not  so.  There 
was  my  old  school  friend,  Julia  Ward;  she  used  to  hold  me 
back  and  keep  my  irrepressible  flow  of  spirits  within  bounds. 
Poor  girl,  I  wonder  what  became  of  her  !  Her  father  lostall  his 
property  just  before  we  moved  from  Rockford,  and  they  were 
dreadfully  poor.  It  must  have  been  hard  for  her,  she  was  so 
quiet  and  reserved.  She  had  such  a  fine  voice  too  ;  it  was 
a  pity  she  could  not  get  beyond  that  wretched  country 
choir.  Really,  I  wish  she  lived  near  us  now.  She 
used  to  calm  and  soothe  me  wonderfully ;  since  I  lost  her  I 
believe  I  have  run  wild.  To  be  sure,  since  I  became 
engaged  to  Livingston,  he  has  tamed  me  in  a  measure,  and 
I  hope  in  time  he  will  quite  tone  me  down.  Dear  boy, 
there  he  sits  in  the  very  top  row  of  the  tenors,  studying  his 
book,  and  as  grave  as  a  judge.  Why,  bless  me  !  the  soloists 
have  come,  and  there  is  the  conductor  with  uplifted  baton. 
The  overture  begins.  What  a  queer  opening  that  is !  —  so  full 
of  strange  sad  chords  —  black  they  seem  to  me.  Somebody 
says  they  represent  the  weary  waiting  of  those  ' '  that  sat 
in  darkness,"  watching  for  the  coming  of  light.  Now  for 
the  fugue.  I  like  fugues.  They  make  me  dream.  This 
one  is  full  of  expectation  and  promise  of  something  to  come. 


THE    SOPRANO.  13 

The  ending,  too,  is  so  strange,  breaking  off  suddenly  with  a 
great  pause,  and  then  closing  in  stately  minor  chords  sug 
gestive  of  coming  events.  Now  for  the  solo.  Jump  up, 
Mr.  Tenor.  Do  your  best.  "  Comfort  ye  "  is  a  great  field 
for  a  tenor's  talents.  Well,  and  that  is  all  you  can  do  with 
it,  is  it  ?  Dear  me,  it  is  a  great  pity  that  such  a  fine  piece 
of  music  should  be  rendered  in  such  a  lifeless  manner.  You 
sang  it  very  correctly,  sir,  but  for  all  that  it  was  cold  com 
fort  you  gave  us.  Now  for  the  next  solo.  There,  it  is  over, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it. 

And  now  for  the  chorus.  The  monitors  give  the  signal. 
We  are  all  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder,  eager,  attentive, 
and  with  kindling  eyes.  The  conductor  glances  round  upon 
us  all.  His  hand  is  raised  —  the  symphony  begins.  0 
girls,  be  ready  !  The  alto  leads  —  he  is  looking  at  us  — 
now :  "  And  the  glory,  the  glory  of  the  Lord  "  —  do  hear 
those  tenors;  how  splendid!  —  "shall  be  revealed,  be  re 
vealed,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shall  be  revealed."  Four 
bars  of  rest  —  again  altos — "And  all  flesh  shall  see  it 
together."  Hear  those  sopranos  climb  higher  and  higher 
with  their  part.  "  For  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  hath  spoken 
it."  All  together  again.  "And  the  glory,  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  shall  be  revealed,  and  all  flesh  shall  see  it  together, 
for  the  mouth  of  the  Lord  "  —  A  great  pause.  What  a 
master  hand  put  this  great  silence  in  the  midst  of  such 
a  flood  of  sound  !  Now  for  the  final  chords,  "  Hath 
spoken  it."  There,  I  fancy  we  sang  that  well.  Was  it 


14  THE   SOPRANO. 

not  glorious?  That  I  call  pure  religion,  praise  realized. 
Why,  what  are  all  those  people  doing  ?  Applauding  a 
chorus  !  They  well  may, —  it  deserved  applause.  I  can  say 
this  if  I  did  sing,  for  I  was  but  one  small  drop  in  the  great 
sea  of  sound. 

Now,  Mr.  Basso,  you  have  a  chance  to  show  what  you 
can  do.  That  was  very  fair,  sir ;  you  have  a  rich,  deep 
voice,  and  you  read  very  correctly.  Only  I  wish  you  could 
speak  the  words  a  little  more  plainly.  Perhaps  public 
singers  never  can  sing  the  words  distinctly  ;  nevertheless, 
I  wish  they  could.  * 

Here's  another  chorus:  "And  he  shall  purify."  It  is 
very  scientific.  Most  audiences  dislike  such  music.  It 
always  interests  me,  and  I  love  to  sing  it.  I  know  nothing 
of  musical  science,  but  I  do  admire  wrought  up  and  involved 
choruses.  The  alto  soloist  can  now  display  her  talents,  if 
she  has  any.  She  has  thrown  aside  her  opera  cloak,  and  is 
standing  up  ready  to  sing.  What  a  ninny  she  is,  to  be 
sure  !  The  idea  of  a  public  singer  appearing  in  oratorio  in 
a  low-necked  dress  !  What  can  the  woman  know  of  "the 
eternal  fitness  of  things  "  ?  The  organ  sounds  and  she  sings 
the  recitative:  "Behold  a  Virgin."  Pretty  well,  my 
dear.  If  you  lo  as  well  on  the  aria  it  will  be  an  average 
success.  "  0  Thou  that  tellest  good  tidings  of  Zion," 
slides  from  her  lips  very  sweetly  and  prettily ;  correct  to 
a  dot. 

Another  chorus  and  two  more  solos  are  performed.     The 


THE   SOPRANO.  15 

solos  interest  me,  because  they  are  so  full  of  darkness  and 
gloom.  The  second  solo  quite  stirred  me  up,  and  prepared 
me  for  the  great  chorus  that  followed.  The  words  were, 
"  The  people  that  walked  in  darkness  have  seen  a  great 
light." 

The  chorus  that  followed  was  the  second  great  event  of 
the  evening:  "For  unto  us  a  child  is  born."  It  was 
opened  by  the  sopranos,  but  we  all  soon  joined  in,  and  when 
it  came  to  the  words,  "  And  the  government  shall  be  upon 
his  shoulders,"  I  was  fairly  wild  with  excitement.  My 
hands  shook  so  that  I  could  not  see  the  notes,  and  I  leaned 
against  the  organ  for  support.  The  orchestra  broke  out 
like  a  tempest.  The  organ  became  an  earthquake ;  I  could 
feel  it  tremble.  First  the  tenors  took  up  the  words ;  then 
the  sopranos  came  in ;  then  we  altos,  with  the  basses,  joined 
them.  "And  the  government  shall  be  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  his  name  shall  be  called  Wonderful !  Counsellor ! 
The  mighty  God !  The  everlasting  Father !  Prince  of 
Peace!" 

It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  the  pastoral  symphony  followed 
this,  otherwise,  I  should  not  have  got  over  the  excitement 
that  evening.  The  quiet,  dreamy  strains  of  the  symphony 
charmed  me  into  peace  and  serenity.  I  could  not  under 
stand  why  I  was  so  much  wrought  up  by  the  music  to-night. 
I  seemed  to  be  impressed  with  a  vague  sense  of  something 
to  come.  I  was  restless  and  expectant ;  why,  I  could  not 
guess.  After  this,  a  young  lady  in  pink  got  up,  and  went 


16  THE   SOPEANO. 

through  the  recitative  that  followed,  and  this  is  all  I  can 
say  of  her.  Then  we  sang  another  short  chorus.  When 
we  sat  down  I  shut  my  book,  leaned  against  the  organ, 
closed  my  eyes,  and  prepared  to  hear  the  next  solo,  and  get 
a  little  rest  at  the  same  time.  I  only  kept  my  eyes  open 
long  enough  to  see  who  was  going  to  sing.  It  was  a  young 
person,  who  seemed  a  stranger  to  us  all.  I  could  not  see 
her  face,  as  the  soloists  always  turn  their  backs  on  us  poor 
chorus  singers.  She  was  of  medium  height,  well  formed, 
of  sturdy  and  robust  build,  and  plainly  dressed  in  blue  silk, 
with  soft,  snowy  lace  at  throat  and  wrists.  Her  hair  was 
simply  braided  and  looped  up  behind,  and  she  wore  no 
ornaments  of  any  kind.  Supposing  she  would  sing  very 
much  as  did  the  others,  I  closed  my  eyes,  quite  indifferent  to 
her  doings.  The  symphony  begins.  How  plainly  the 
violins  seem  to  sing  the  words,  "  Rejoice  greatly,  0 
Daughter  of  Zion  !  "  Now  the- voice  comes  in  :  "  Rejoice, 
rejoice,  rejoice  greatly,  0  Daughter  of  Zion  !  " 

Really,  what  is  this  ?  I  must  open  my  eyes  and  sit  up. 
What  is  the  woman  doing  ?  I  never  heard  such  singing 
before.  What  a  voice  !  It  is  like  a  clarion  ;  it  is  wonderfully 
powerful  and  resonant ;  and  yet  how  pure  !  How  plainly 
she  speaks  the  words,  "Behold  thy  King  coineth  unto 
thee."  It  is  perfectly  marvellous.  Who  taught  her  to 
sing  in  that  style  ?  Now  she  comes  to  the  piano  passage  : 
"He  is  the  righteous  Saviour,  and  he  shall  speak  peace 
unto  the  heathen."  How  delicious  that  word  "peace"! 


THE   SOPRANO.  17 

Just  hear  her !  Was  there  ever  anything  like  it  ?  Why,  do 
look  at  the  choir, —  they  are  staring  at  her  as  if  they  were 
beside  themselves.  Now  she  returns  to  the  allegro  again : 
"  Rejoice  greatly."  Isn't  it  splendid?  There!  Oh,  dear, 
what  a  noise  !  The  applause  is  enough  to  deafen  one.  Well, 
she  deserves  it.  But  who  is  she,  where  did  she  come  from  ? 
She  must  be  something  great  to  achieve  such  a  success. 
Wish  I  had  a  programme.  Wonder  if  any  of  the  girls  have 
one  ?  No,  there  is  not  one  in  sight.  But  it  seems  to  me  I 
have  heard  that  voice  before ;  when  and  where  could  it  have 
been  ?  Oh,  she  is  going  to  repeat  it.  Well,  I  don't  wonder, 
but  it  is  hardly  fair  to  ask  for  a  repetition ;  yet  I  suppose 
they  never  would  be  quiet  if  she  refused.  Again,  and 
better,  if  possible.  Really,  I  never  heard  such  singing 
before,  and  yet  I  have  certainly  heard  that  voice  some 
where.  How  I  wish  I  knew  her  name  ! 

Now  she  of  the  pink  gets  up.  Poor  thing  !  I  pity  her. 
She  can  never  equal  the  other  young  lady.  Well,  I  am  glad 
I  was  not  obliged  to  sing  that.  The  contrast  was  not  pleas 
ing.  But  who  expected  that  this  new  voice  would  perform 
such  wonders  ?  Here  comes  the  next  aria.  The  new  singer 
has  risen.  How  still  it  is  !  Not  a  whisper  from  the  nearly 
four  thousand  tongues  in  the  hall.  I  can  almost  hear  my 
self  breathe.  She  begins :  "Come  unto  Him  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  He  will  give  you  rest.  Take 
His  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  Him,  for  he  is  meek  and 

lowly  of  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls." 
2 


18  THE   SOPRANO. 

Was  that  not  perfect  ?  —  every  word  as  clear  and  distinct  as 
cut  glass  ;  and  how  full  her  voice  seemed  of  the  very  spirit 
of  prayer  and  promise !  I  am  certain  I  have  heard  that 
voice  before.  Can  it  be  that  of  my  old  friend  Julia  Ward  ? 
No,  it  is  impossible ;  yet  it  reminds  me  of  her.  Oh  !  there 
is  a  programme  on  that  man's  music-rack.  Kneeling  down, 
as  if  I  wished  to  lace  up  my  boot,  I  peer  over  the  shoulders 
of  the  girls  in  front  of  me,  and  by  stretching  my  neck  man 
age  to  make  out  the  words  "  Miss  Julia."  The  rest  I  can 
not  read.  But  how  can  it  be  ?  If  I  remember,  Julia  had 
no  such  trained  voice  as  that,  and  the  Wards  were  too 
deeply  sunk  in  poverty  to  ever  give  her  the  musical  educa 
tion  this  girl  exhibits.  When  she  had  finished  the  aria  the 
conductor  had  considerable  difficulty  in  repressing  the  tu- 
multous  applause  that  rang  through  the  house.  Quiet  was 
at  length  restored,  and  we  sang  the  last  chorus  in  the  first 
part.  I  did  not  sing  at  all,  being  lost  in  wonder  at  the 
discovery  of  my  friend  Julia ;  for  I  felt  certain  it  was  she. 
There  —  the  soloists  have  risen  to  retire  for  a  few  moments 
of  rest.  She  is  standing  among  them,  and,  as  she  turns  to 
go,  I  catch  a  full  view  of  her  face.  It  is  Julia  Ward  !  Oh, 
I  must  see  and  speak  to  her  !  I  will  search  every  hotel  to 
morrow  till  I  find  her ;  but  perhaps  she  will  be  off  in  some 
early  train  to  another  city.  To-morrow  is  Christmas ;  doubt 
less  she  will  sing  in  oratorio  elsewhere.  It  may  be  she  is 
to  start  in  the  owl  train  this  very  night,  and  I  may  never 
see  her  again  I  must  see  her  here  and  now.  But  how  can 


THE   SOPRANO.  19 

I  ?  It  is  plain  I  cannot  climb  to  the  top  of  the  stage  again 
through  all  those  gentlemen.  There  is  but  one  thing  to  be 
done.  Get  down  and  find  my  way  through  the  orchestra. 

"  Sir,  please  help  me.     I  wish  to  get  down." 

"  Get  down  !     What's  that  for  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  please  let  me.  I  am  not  afraid  to  jump,  if  you 
will  help  me." 

"What,  before  the  whole  house?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  only  give  me  your  hand." 

And  he  did,  the  good,  dear  trombone-man ;  and  in  a  mo 
ment  I  was  pushing  my  way  through  the  crowded  orchestra. 
The  whole  choir  took  pains  to  watch  my  movements  with 
curiosity ;  but  I  did  not  care  for  them.  I  was  determined 
to  see  Julia.  Just  as  I  came  up  to  the  front  of  the  stage, 
I  glanced  up  to  the  tenors.  There  sat  Livingston,  quite 
horrified  at  sight  of  me.  Well,  I  am  sorry,  but  it 
cannot  be  helped  now.  In  another  moment,  I  had  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  anteroom  behind  the  stage.  It  was 
opened  by  the  conductor. 

"  Is  Miss  Ward  here  ?" 

"  Yes;  but  you  cannot  see  her.  She  does  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed,  and  has  given  me  orders  to  admit  no  one." 

"  But,  sir,  it  is  very  important  that  I  should  see  her. 
Could  you  not  say  to  her  that  Miss  Jane  Kingsford  is  at  the 
door?" 

"  I  will  tell  her,  but  am  sure  she  will  not  see  you." 
Then  the  door  was  closed,  leaving  me  standing  alone  in 


20  THE   SOPRANO. 

the  dark  and  narrow  entry- way,  flushed  with  excitement  and 
disappointment.  Presently  the  door  was  reopened,  and  I 
entered  a  small,  richly  furnished  room.  Gathered  together 
in  a  corner  were  the  four  singers,  earnestly  talking  among 
themselves.  Seated  on  a  low  chair,  with  her  feet  on  the 
fender,  sat  my  friend  Julia,  dreamily  gazing  at  the  fire  that 
blazed  upon  the  hearth.  Going  up  to  her,  I  laid  my  hand 
upon  her  shoulder  and  looked  in  her  face.  She  remem 
bered  me  at  once,  took  my  hand  in  hers,  smiled,  and  kissed 
me. 

."  Jane  Kingsford  !  What  a  surprise  !  Can  it  really  be 
you  ?  I  have  not  seen  you  for  years.  Where  did  you  come 
from?" 

"  From  the  stage.  I  was  in  the  choir,  and  saw  and 
recognized  you.  I  asked  a  gentleman  to  help  me  down, 
came  through  the  orchestra,  and  here  I  am,  delighted  to 
see  you." 

"  It  is  just  like  you,  Jane.  You  are  the  same  wild  and 
affectionate  girl  you  were  in  Rockford." 

"  I  know  it,  Julia.  I'm  not  tamed  yet.  But  then,  I 
did  so  want  to  speak  to  you,  and  was  afraid  if  I  did  not  see 
you  now,  I  might  never  do  so." 

"You  were  partly  right  there.  I  sing  before  the  Men 
delssohn  Society,  to-morrow,  in  another  city." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  singing  somewhere  every  night." 

"  No,  not  every  night.     One  must  have  some  rest." 


THE   SOPRANO.  21 

"  But,  Julia,  is  not  this  a  very  great  change  from  —  from 
your  Rockford  life?  " 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  I  was  poor  —  very  poor  — 
and  almost  friendless  when  we  lived  there.  However,  things 
have  changed  since  then." 

"I  should  say  they  had.  I  wish  you  had  time  to  tell 
me  all  about  it.  Hark  !  is  that  the  organ?  How  queer  it 
sounds  down  here  under  the  very  bellows !  I  suppose  I 
must  go  now.  Where  shall  I  see  you  again  ?  Now  that  I 
have  found  you,  I  must  not  lose  you  again." 

"I  shall  be  at  my  rooms  at  the  Shawmut  House,  on 
Monday.  Come  and  see  me.  Come  early  and  take  tea.  It 
will  seem  like  old  times  to  talk  over  things  with  you." 

Just  then  the  conductor  started  up,  and  said  it  was  time 
to  return  to  the  hall.  Thereupon  they  all  went  out,  and  I 
after  them.  When  I  reached  the  floor  of  the  house,  I  looked 
up  and  discovered,  to  my  dismay,  that  the  choir  and  orches 
tra  were  all  ready  to  begin.  What  was  I  to  do  now  ?  If  I 
went  down  to  the  rehearsal-room  and  walked  up  the  other 
way,  I  should  come  out  at  the  top  of  the  stage,  behind  the 
basses,  and  far  above  my  seat.  There  was  but  one  thing  to 
be  done,  —  pass  along  the  front  of  the  stage  and  find  a  seat 
somewhere  among  the  first  row  of  altos.  This  I  did,  and, 
through  the  aid  of  a  friend,  found  a  seat  directly  in  front 
and  in  line  with  the  conductor.  It  was  a  very  conspicuous 
place,  but  I  did  not  mind  so  long  as  I  had  such  a  fine 
chance  to  see  everything.  The  alto  monitor  looked  at  me 


22  THE   SOPRANO. 

very  bard  as  I  sat  down,  but  I  returned  bis  gaze  -with  a  look 
of  demure  innocence,  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

The  chorus,  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,"  began  at  once, 
and,  as  it  is  opened  by  the  altos,  I  had  quite  enough  to 
do  to  sing  with  the  rest.  This  chorus  is  in  G  minor,  largo 
time,  and  always  impresses  me.  I  never  heard  it  sung  bet 
ter.  Julia  had  evidently  inspired  the  whole  society,  and 
they  seemed  resolved  to  show  her  what  they  could  do. 
When  it  came  to  her  turn,  the  low-necked  alto  also  caught 
inspiration  from  the  soprano  beside  her.  She  sang  ''"He  was 
despised  and  rejected  "  with  great  care  and  feeling.  When 
she  sat  down,  Julia  turned  towards  her,  and,  with  a 
smile,  said  a  few  words  to  her,  —  "  words  of  praise  and  en 
couragement,  no  doubt,"  I  said  to  myself;  "she  was 
always  so  considerate  and  helpful  towards  others." 

And  so  it  went  on,  —  every  one,  soloists,  choir,  and  orches 
tra,  seemed  animated  to  do  their  best.  I  never  heard  a  finer 
performance  of  the  "Messiah."  Finally,  the  last  notes  of  the 
hallelujah  chorus  died  away,  and  we  came  to  the  great  event 
of  the  evening,  Julia's  rendering  of  "  I  know  that  my  Re 
deemer  liveth."  When  the  symphony  began,  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  opened  her  book,  and  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the 
stage.  She  looked  splendidly,  —  erect,  shoulders  wide  apart, 
and  head  thrown  back  as  if  looking  at  something  above  and 
beyond  her.  When  the  orchestra  ceased,  she  closed  her 
book,  and  began  without  it,  '  I  know  that  my  Redeemer 
liveth."  Ay,  she  knew  it,  and  filled  the  music  with  her 


THE   SOPRANO.  23 

belief.  Again  she  sang  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth, 
and  that  he  shall  stand,  at  the  latter-day  upon  the  earth." 
I  never  listened  to  anything  like  it.  Her  tones  were  as 
pure  as  crystal,  every  word  pronounced  plainly  and  dis 
tinctly,  while  her  voice  was  full  of  faith  and  trust  as  if  she 
believed  what  she  sang.  She  used  no  ornaments  in  her 
singing.  Not  a  trill  or  run  marred  the  exact  simplicity  of 
her  rendering  of  the  music.  The  orchestra  seemed  fasci 
nated,  and  played  as  I  have  never  heard  them  play  before. 
They  even  forgot  themselves,  and  played  involuntarily  so 
softly  that  we  caught  every  tone  of  her  voice,  however  faint. 
Presently  she  dropped  down  to  the  softest  piano,  and  yet 
could  be  heard  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  hall  (for  a  death 
like  stillness  had  crept  over  the  assembled  multitude),  and 
with  a  voice  full  of  sorrow  and  resignation,  she  sang :  "  And 
though  worms  destroy  this  body."  After  two  bars  of  sympho 
ny,  she  went  on  again :  "Yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God."  It 
was  like  a  great  and  sudden  light.  Rising  higher,  louder, 
and  clearer,  her  tones  broke  forth  :  "  Yet  in  my  flesh  shall 
I  see  God  !  "  Oh  !  it  was  glorious !  I  never  read  or 
dreamed  of  anything  to  compare  with  it.  But  it  is  alto 
gether  beyond  me  to  describe  how  she  sang  the  rest  of  the 
piece.  I  can  only  say  that  it  was  beyond  anything  I  had 
ever  imagined  in  music.  When  she  had  finished,  and  the 
last  notes  of  the  orchestra  had  died  away,  there  came  a 
pause,  and  an  oppressive  silence.  As  for  Julia,  she  opened 
her  book,  glanced  at  it  for  a  second,  shut  it,  gazed  serenely 


24  THE   SOPRANO. 

around  on  the  sea  of  faces  before  her,  and  quietly  sat  down 
as  if  nothing  particularly  wonderful  had  happened.  Just 
as  she  seated  herself,  a  man  in  the  upper  balcony  leaned 
over  the  railing  and  cried  aloud,  "  Bravo  !  "  In  an  instant 
the  people  burst  into  a  perfect  uproar  of  applause.  The 
choir  overstepped  all  rules,  stood  up  and  fairly  cheered  her, 
while  the  organist  got  so  excited  he  put  both  feet  on  a  dozen 
pedals  at  once,  with  all  the  stops  out !  As  for  the  orchestra, 
they  went  wild.  The  violinists  rapped  the  backs  of  their 
violins  with  their  bows,  the  men  of  brass  rattled  their  in 
struments  on  the  floor,  and  the  kettle-drum-man  pounded 
his  machine  with  his  fists  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight.  Two 
elderly  cello' ists,  in  front  of  me,  stood  up,  shook  each  other 
by  the  hand,  and  said,  "It  ish  magnifcent!  The  like  we 
never  heard  save  in  the  Fatherland." 


THE   SOPRANO.  25 


CHAPTER  II. 

"GOD    IS    A   CASTLE    AND    DEFENCE  WHEN  TROUBLES  AND    DISTRESS 

INVADE."  —  Luther's  Hymn. 

THE  clock  was  striking  five,  and  the  short  twilight  fading 
away,  as  I  rang  the  bell  at  the  ladies'  entrance  of  the  Shaw- 
mut  House,  the  next  Monday  afternoon.  I  was  soon  ush 
ered  into  Miss  Ward's  private  parlor,  but  found  it  empty. 

"Miss  Ward  is  busy  at  present,  but  will  be  at  leisure  in 
a  short  time.  Will  you  send  your  card,  or  wait?  " 

I  informed  the  servant  that  I  had  come  to  spend  the 
evening,  by  invitation,  and  would  await  Miss  Ward's  con 
venience.  She  was  not  to  be  disturbed  on  my  account.  The 
servant  withdrew,  and,  finding  myself  alone,  I  took  the 
opportunity  to  look  about  me.  A  fine,  lofty  parlor,  richly 
carpeted  and  furnished,  but  full  of  soft  shadows ;  a  grand 
piano,  piles  of  music  and  books,  and  several  pictures  ;  two 
windows  looking  out  upon  the  brilliantly  lighted  street,  and 
an  open  fire  that  served  at  once  for  warmth  and  light.  This 
last  feature  pleased  me  greatly  ;  if  there  is  any  one  thing  I 
like  before  all  others,  it  is  an  open  wood-fire.  This  was  not 
a  wood-fire,  but  next  door  to  it,  cannel-coal.  Selecting  a 
"sleepy  hollow"  chair,  I  drew  it  up  before  the  fire,  and 
slid  myself  into  it.  "  Now,  this  is  nice,"  mused  I;  "  I  am 


26  THE   SOPRANO. 

naturally  lazy.  This  just  suits  me.  I  don't  care  if  Julia 
stays  away  just  a  very  little  while."  And,  as  I  sat  there 
gazing  in  the  fire,  I  could  not  help  thinking  how  different 
all  this  seemed  from  the  homely  little  back-parlor,  with  its 
faded  carpet  and  cast-iron  stove,  where  I  used  to  see  Julia 
studying  her  lessons,  or  sewing,  long  time  ago,  in  dear  old 
Rockford.  A  great  change,  surely  ! 

"Well,  Jule,  have  you  got  through  with  those  music 
fellows?" 

Starting  up  to  see  who  it  was  that  spoke,  I  discovered 
a  white-haired,  old  gentleman  standing  near  the  door,  who 
had  entered  the  room  unobserved  by  me.  He  was  partly  in 
the  shade,  but  soon  came  forward  into  the  fire-light. 

"Excuse  me,  sir.  I  am  not  Julia.  She  will  be  here 
presently.  I  have  come  to  see  her.  My  name  is  —  " 

"  Sis  Kingsford,  as  I'm  alive.  Deary  me,  how  you  have 
grown  !  I  knew  you  though.  How  do  you  do,  my  dear?  " 
and  he  came  up  to  me  and  offered  his  hand. 

"  Quite  well,  Mr.  Ward." 

"  Don't  '  Mr.'  me,  girl.  Call  me  Pa  Ward,  just  as  you 
used  to  do." 

He  had  not  changed  much.  Just  the  same  dear,  cross 
old  man,  I  remember  seeing  so  often  years  ago. 

"Well,  Pa  Ward,  how  are  you?  I  have  not  seen 
you  for  a  long  time." 

"  It  aren't  such  a  very  long  time.  It's  only  five  years 
«ince  we  lived  next  door  to  Squire  Kingsford's  mill.  Is  he 


THE    SOPRANO.  27 

well?  I  always  liked  him  since  he  drove  Tom  Slurry's 
cows  out  of  my  corn." 

"  Thank  you,  father  and  mother  are  both  quite  well,  and 
would  be  glad  to  see  you.  We  did  not  know  you  were  in 
the  city  till  Saturday,  or  we  should  have  called  upon  you." 

u  I  hardly  knew  it  myself.  Julia  travels  round  so  fast, 
I  aren't  always  sure  where  I  am.  When  I  wake  up  in  the 
morning,  I  sometimes  have  to  stop  and  think  where  I  am. 
I  can't  always  tell." 

"  Do  you  like  travelling,  Pa  Ward?" 

"No,  not  much." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Ward  enjoy  life?  " 

"Yes,  mother  enjoys  her  life,  I  am  sure;  but  it  is  a 
different  life  from  ours." 

0 

11  How  so?     Is  she  well  now ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  well  now.  She'll  never  more  be  sick 
or  ailing.  They  are  never  sick  where  she  is."  And  he 
gazed  absently  at  the  fire  as  if  to  recall  something. 

Finding  that  I  had  advanced  upon  unknown  ground,  I 
stopped  abruptly  and  stared  hard  at  the  carpet.  Just  at 
this  moment  a  side-door  opened,  and  Julia  entered.  She 
was  plainly  dressed  in  claret- colored  poplin,  and  had  her 
hair  done  up  in  the  same  girlish  fashion  I  so  well  remem 
bered.  Advancing  to  where  her  father  stood,  she  put  her 
arm  about  him^  and  kissed  him;  then  she  came  to  me, 
took  both  my  hands  in  hers,  and  saluted  me  also. 


28  THE   SOPRANO. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,  Jane.  Are  you  all  well 
at  home?" 

"Yes,  thank  you.  Mother  sent  her  love,  and  says  she 
shall  be  happy  to  have  you  call  on  us.  She  would  have 
come  with  me,  but  could  not." 

"  Come,  let  us  sit  down  and  be  comfortable  together."  So 
saying,  she  pushed  a  huge  arm-chair  up  before  the  fire,  and 
assisted  her  father  into  it.  Taking  a  low  stool,  she  sat  down 
by  his  knee,  while  I  sought  my  friend,  "  the  sleepy  hollow." 

"Now  let  me  tell  our  adventures.  "What  did  you  do 
to-day,  pa?" 

"  Not  much  worth  telling.  I  read  the  papers  and  took 
a  nap.  After  dinner  I  went  out  to  walk.  I  didn't  go  far. 
The  people  jostled  me,  and  it  was  cold  and  lonely  •  so  I  came 
home  and  found  little  Sis  Kingsford." 

"Don't  call  her  'sis,'  pa.  She  is  a  grown-up  woman 
now." 

"  Yes,  I  shall.     May  I  not,  sis  ?  " 

"Anything  you  like,  sir.  I  have  no  doubt  I  am  the  same 
wild  girl  I  was  in  Rockford,  and  well  deserve  the  name." 

"  That's  just  what  I  tell  Jule.  Things  have  changed, 
but  we  haven't." 

"I  hope  not,  sir." 

"Pa,  please." 

"I  hope  not,  Pa  Ward." 

"  That's  a  dear.  Now,  Jule,  what  have  you  been  doing 
all  day?" 


THE   SOPRANO.  29 

"  A  little  of  everything.  I  practised  all  the  m  >rning, 
and  have  been  receiving  callers  in  the  public  parlor  all  the 
afternoon." 

"Did  any  more  of  those  music  fellows  come  round? 
I  hate  'em." 

"  Only  two,  pa.  One  came  to  pay  me  some  money,  and 
the  other  to  engage  me  to  sing  next  week." 

"No,  no.  I  don't  mean  those;  I  mean  the  music  men 
that  do  nothing  about  music  but  talk.  I  say  I  hate  'em." 

"  Don't  say  that,  pa.  Some  of  them  are  wise  and  good 
men.  It  helps  me  to  talk  with  them ;  I  get  many  new 
ideas." 

"  I  don't  refer  to  those ;  I  mean  the  other  men  who  talk 
and  don't  say  anything.  Was  there  many  of  them?  " 

"  Only  a  few  this  time.  There  are  always  some,  you 
know.  I  sent  them  all  away  as  quickly  as  possible,  so  that 
I  might  come  to  my  pa  again." 

"That's  right,  deary.  Don't  let  'em  keep  you  from  me 
too  much.  It  is  bad  enough,  '  torio  '  nights.  By  the  way, 
sis,  were  you  at  the  '  torio  '  night  before  last  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  happy  to  say  I  was  there." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because,  if  you  hadn't  been,  you  would  have  a  great 
gap  in  your  life  that  never  would  be  filled  up." 

"I  would  not  have  missed  being  there  for  the  world." 

"  No  more  would  I.     Didn't  she  sing  splendid?  " 


30  THE   SOPRANO. 

"Who,  sir?" 

"  Why,  my  Jule." 

"  She  did,  indeed."  Just  then,  I  looked  up,  and,  seeing 
a  queer  expression  in  Julia's  face,  stopped  suddenly.  There 
would  have  been  an  awkward  pause  if  a  servant  had  not 
entered. 

"  What  time  will  you  have  tea,  miss  ?  " 

"At  seven,  and  we  will  have  it  in  here  by  the  fire." 

"  Shall  I  light  the  gas  ?" 

"  No,  Jule,  don't  let  her.    The  fire-light  is  better." 

"  We  do  not  care  for  lights,  Kate.  You  may  light  the 
burner  in  my  room."  Thereupon  the  servant  departed. 

"  Now,  pa,  Jane  and  I  are  going  to  get  ready  for  sup 
per,  and  you  must  excuse  us." 

"  Yes,  dear.  I'll  take  a  nap  till  the  paper  comes.", 

"  That's  right ;  you  need  rest.  Call  a  servant  if  you  want 
a  light." 

Beckoning  to  me  to  accompany  her,  she  rose  and  went 
towards  the  door  of  the  next  room.  On  entering,  we  found 
ourselves  in  a  cosey  little  chamber,  well  filled  with  furniture. 
Everything  was  simple  and  elegant,  betokening  wealth  and 
refinement.  Rolling  two  great  arm-chairs  up  before  the  gem 
of  a  fire,  she  offered  me  one,  and  took  the  other  herself. 

"  Now,  Jane  let's  be  girls  again."  So  saying  she  took 
down  her  hair,  letting  it  fall  around  her,  put  on  a  pair  of 
slippers,  and,  placing  her  feet  on  the  fender,  involuntarily 
made  a  charming  picture  of  herself.  Nothing  loath,  I 


THE   SOPRANO.  81 

followed  her  example  as  far  as  I  could.  I  did  not  let  down 
my  hair,  take  off  my  boots,  nor  look  pretty ;  but  I  found  the 
softest  corner  in  the  huge  chair,  and  followed  my  usual  in 
clination,  —  laziness. 

"  Come,  Jane,  tell  me  all  about  it.  Where  have  you 
been,  and  what  have  you  been  doing  all  these  long  years?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Julia.  My  life  has  been  as  dull  as  the 
lives  of  the  good  girls  in  the  story-books." 

"  You  are  not  one  of  the  good  girls." 

"Thank  you,  dear." 

"I  mean  the  story-book  girls,  who  hemmed  moral  hand 
kerchiefs  and  died  early." 

"  Goodness  !  I'm  not  one  of  those.    I  am  naturally  bad." 

"  Wild,  not  bad." 

"Yes,  wild.  You  knew  all  about  me  when  we  lived  at 
Rockford.  I  haven't  changed  much,  nor  has  my  life  either. 
"  It's  the  same  old  story  of  getting  into  scrapes,  and  then 
being  dragged  out  by  main  force." 

"Tell  me  about  some  of  them." 

"  Not  now,  dear." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  what  you  did  when  you  left  Rockford." 

"  I  haven't  done  anything  remarkable.  I  went  to  school 
part  of  the  time,  and  have  been  doing  nothing  at  all  ever 
since.  —  that  is,  nothing  worth  mentioning.  By  the  way,  how 
did  you  manage  to  sing  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liv- 
eth  "  without  looking  at  the  book?  " 

"That  was  easy  enough.     That  solo  has  been  almost 


32  THE    SOPRANO. 

burned  into  me.  I  know  every  note  by  heart.  If  I  had 
time  I  would  tell  you  about  it." 

"Tell  me  now,  please." 

"  Not  just  yet.  It  is  a  long  and  sad  story.  After  tea 
I  will  give  it  to  you." 

"  Tell  me  something  else,  then.  I'm  dying  to  hear  all 
about  your  life  since  I  saw  you  last.  You  must  have  passed 
through  some  queer  scenes." 

"Some  queer  and  some  sad.  Would  you  really  like  to 
hear  about  it?" 

"  Indeed  I  would.  I'll  be  all  attention,  unless  you  get 
prosy;  then  I  shall  fall  asleep.  I  always  do." 

"  You  are  a  naughty  girl,  Jane.  If  I  see  you  close  your 
eyes,  I'll  stop  short,  and  you  shall  not  hear  another  word." 

"  Well,  dear,  I'll  be  good.  Begin,  please,  and  don't  mor 
alize."  

My  adventures  began  in  a  church.  It  was  the  Sun 
day  preceding  father's  failure  in  business.  We  all  went  to 
church  that  day  in  pleasing  ignorance  of  the  trouble  in 
store  for  us.  I  was  a  little  late,  and  sat  down  next  the  aisle. 
While  I  was  getting  settled  in  my  seat,  and  preparing  to  hear 
the  organ  begin,  some  one  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and, 
looking  up,  I  discovered  Mr.  Loudman,  chairman  of  the 
music  committee,  standing  near  me. 

"  Will  you  please  come  out  into  the  entry,  one  moment, 
Miss  Ward?" 

"What  for,  sir?" 


THE    SOPRANO.  33 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  here.  Please  come ;  it  is  quite  im 
portant." 

I  got  up  and  went  up  the  broad  aisle  towards  the  front 
door.  I  am  sure  I  was  scarlet  all  the  time.  I  knew  every 
one  there,  including  those  odious  Waring  girls,  was  staring 
at  us.  Soon  we  reached  the  outer  entrance  of  the  church. 

"  We  are  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  without  a  treble  this 
morning.  Miss  Vane  has  just  sent  word  that  she  cannot 
come.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  her  place  in  the 
choir  to-day  ?  The  music  is  very  easy.  I  am  sure  you 
can  sing  it." 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  I  know  I  cannot.  Get  some  one  else, 
please." 

"  We  cannot  find  any  one  ;  besides,  it  is  very  late,  and  Mr. 
Purcell  hates  to  have  anything  go  wrong  with  the  music." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  I'll  not  sing." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  !  I  don't  mean  that.  He  does  not  like  to 
have  the  music  omitted,  and  we  must,  if  you  do  not  sing." 

Just  then  the  organ  began  to  sound. 

"  Come,  please.  The  music  is  easy.  You  are  sure  to 
do  yourself  credit." 

"  Well,  sir,  prepare  for  a  failure.  I  am  ready  to  go 
with  you." 

"  Never  you  fear  ;  "  and  in  a  moment  or  two  I  found  my 
self  in  the  front  seat  of  tke  organ-loft.  I  was  introduced  in 
a  whisper  to  the  members  of  the  choir,  and  a  music-book  was 
placed  in  my  hand.  I  was  left  to  my  own  thoughts  for  a  while ; 


34  THE   SOPRANO. 

then  my  position  broke  upon  me.  How  ridiculous,  the  idea 
of  my  attempting  to  sing  in  a  choir  !  I  know  I  shall  break 
down.  I  will  not  rise  with  the  rest ;  I'll  sing  without  stand 
ing.  I  never  can  face  all  those  people.  How  I  wish  I  was 
at  home  !  Meanwhile  the  organ  went  droning  on,  in  its  usual 
fashion.  I  wondered  how  I  should  know  ,when  it  was  time  to 
begin ;  so  I  listened  to  the  music,  but  gained  nothing.  Miss 
Playon  was  our  organist  at  the  time.  She  composed  her  own 
voluntaries,  and,  as  she  had  but  few  ideas,  her  music  seemed  to 
be  a  mere  succession  of  closing  chords,  or  "  amens"  as  I  used  to 
call  them.  I  said  every  moment,  "  Now  she  will  stop ; "  but 
she  did  not.  It  was  .very  aggravating,  as  it  kept  me  in  sus 
pense  all  the  time.  Soon  she  turned  round,  and  said,  in  an 
important  whisper,  "  Page  ninety-one,  first  piece."  On 
looking  over  my  book,  I  found  the  place  readily. 

11  Rise,  please,"  said  Miss  Playon. 

The  three  others  did  so,  and  I  reluctantly  followed  their 
example. 

"  Six  bars,  prelude.     Ready  —  now." 

Well,  we  sang  it  somehow.  It  was  a  short  anthem,  very 
«»asy  and  very  poor.  The  reading  of  the  Scriptures  fol 
lowed  ;  after  that,  Mr.  Purcell  read  the  hymn,  — 

"  Almighty  Father !  I  am  weak, 
But  thou  wilt  strengthen  me," 

and  we  were  requested  to  sing  a  tune  to  it  I  had  never  seen 
before.  The  only  thing  I  can  remember  about  it  was,  that  it 


THE    SOPRANO.  35 

was  ineffably  weak,  however  the  words  suited  my  case,  and  I 
sang  them  as  if  I  believed  them,  and  I  did.  When  we  sat 
down  the  alto  stared  very  hard  at  me,  why,  I  did  not  know. 
After  one  more  hymn  Mr.  Purcell  began  his  sermon.  I  was 
glad  to  see  him  rise,  for  I  was  far  from  pleased  with  my  sur 
roundings.  Now  I  could  listen  to  the  discourse  in  peace.  I 
had  tried  to  do  my  duty,  and  hope  I  succeeded,  but  peace  was 
not  to  be  mine.  The  bass  and  alto  must  needs  fall  to  whisper 
ing,  and  the  tenor  touched  my  arm,  and  silently  offered  me  a 
brown-paper  parcel.  Not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this  pro 
ceeding,  I  stared  at  the  man  and  shook  my  head ;  then  he 
opened  the  package,  and,  displaying  a  quantity  of  candy, 
said,  as  he  passed  it  to  me :  — 

"Take  some." 

Putting  a  first-class  frown  on  my  face,  I  shook  my  head 
emphatically.  He  did  not  seem  to  understand. 

"  Won't  you  have  some  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.     I  never  eat  between  meals." 

He  subsided  at  this,  and  I  again  turned  towards  the  pulpit, 
but  I  could  not  fix  my  attention  upon  the  sermon.  The  two 
whisperers  beside  me,  the  extinguished  young  man  on  my 
right,  and  the  organist  behind,  fast  asleep,  were  too  much  for 
my  peace.  I  had  come  to  church  to  worship.  I  could  not  see 
why  it  was  not  as  much  Sunday  upstairs  as  down.  One  thing 
is  certain,  —  I'll  never  sing  in  the  choir  after  to-day.  I  sup 
pose  I  shall  be  obliged  to  this  afternoon,  but  it  shall  be  the 
last  time.  They  must  get  some  one  else  before  next  Sunday. 


86  THE   SOPRANO. 

As  we  came  out  of  church  I  met  Mr.  Loudman. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Ward.  You  did  yourself  gieat  cred 
it." 

A  fib. 

"We  shall  be  pleased  to  have  you  try  again  this  after 
noon." 

Doubted.  Just  here  two  gentlemen  passed  along  with 
the  crowd. 

"  Who  is  the  young  soprano,  doctor  ?  " 

"Don't  know.     Can  sing  fairly." 

"  Yes,  and  with  feeling.  She  put  her  whole  soul  into  that 
first  hymn." 

When  I  reached  home  I  related  my  experience.  Mother 
was  disgusted,  and  said  I  should  not  sing  again.  Father  was 
provoked,  but  said  nothing.  After  dinner  I  went  to  church 
once  more.  This  time  the  performance  was  varied.  The  alto 
fell  asleep,  the  organist  read  a  novel,  and  the  two  men  talked 
politics  behind  my  back.  When  I  reached  home  I  vowed  I 
never  would  sing  again  in  a  country  choir,  if  I  could  help  it. 
I  never  saw  or  heard  a  city  choir,  and  of  them  I  could  not 
then  speak. 

Two  days  after  this,  father's  failure  was  announced. 
Everybody  was  surprised,  and  none  more  so  than  ourselves. 
It  was  a  sorrowful  time  with  us ;  we  had  always  been  sur 
rounded  by  wealth  and  luxury ;  but  that  now  was  all  over.  I 
will  pass  by  our  trials.  Perhaps  you  remember  some  of  them 
yourself. 


THE   SOPRANO.  37 

"  Tea,  dear,  I  do.  Those  were,  indeed,  sad  days  for 
you." 

"  Not  half  as  sad  as  some  others  that  came  after." 

"  Indeed!     Tell  me  more,  please." 

Well.  It  was,  as  you  may  recollect,  on  Tuesday  that 
our  troubles  began.  Father  was  quite  overcome,  and  stayed 
at  home  all  day,  half-sick  with  care  and  anxiety.  Mother 
and  I  did  our  best  to  cheer  him  up,  and  promised  to  do  and 
bear  everything  without  a  murmur,  and,  we  did,  —  at  least, 
mother  did,  and  I  tried  to.  It  was  hard  work  to  come  down 
from  our  high  estate,  and  begin  life  once  more  under  hum 
bler  circumstances.  For  my  part,  I  felt  it  keenly.  Oh,  if 
I  had  only  been  a  boy  !  Then  I  could  go  out  and  do  some 
thing,  —  earn  some  money,  and  perhaps  aid  my  father.  But 
no,  I  could  do  nothing.  I  was  only  a  dead  weight,  —  of  no 
use  to  myself,  or  to  anybody  else.  These  were  not  pleasant 
or  good  thoughts.  There  were  many  things  I  could  do,  if 
I  only  tried.  Throwing  myself  into  a  chair,  I  sat  down  by 
the  window,  mortified  and  discouraged,  and  idly  began  to 
look  on  the  busy  village-street.  Plenty  of  men  and  boys 
were  walking  or  riding  past,  all  eager  and  intent  upon  their 
various  occupations ;  only  myself  an  idler.  Over  the  tops  of 
the  opposite  houses  I  could  see  the  tall  chimney  of  father's 
mill.  No  cheerful  banner  of  smoke  streamed  from  its  mouth. 
The  mill  was  closed,  and  the  fires  out,  never  more  to  blaze  for 
our  benefit.  Strangers  had  already  taken  possession  of  the 
works.  Suddenly  the  front-gate  was  opened,  and  Mr.  Loud- 


38  THE   SOPRANO. 

man  entered.  On  going  to  the  door  to  meet  him,  I  found  he 
was  in  search  of  myself.  Mr.  Chauncy,  a  wealthy  neighbor, 
had  lost  his  wife.  The  funeral  was  to  take  place  at  the 
church,  the  next  day,  and  the  services  of  the  choir  would  be 
needed.  Miss  Vane  being  still  ill,  Mr.  Loudman  had  come 
to  ask  me  to  take  her  place  again.  Glad  to  find  anything 
to  do,  however  gloomy  the  work,  I  accepted  the  invitation, 
and  sang  at  the  funeral.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  sing  very 
well.  It  seemed  my  own  funeral  instead  of  Mrs.  Chauncy's, 
—  the  funeral  of  all  my  hopes  and  joys  in  life.  After  the  ser 
vice  was  over,  I  waited  upstairs  till  the  mourners  should  go. 
I  never  follow  the  multitude,  and  gratify  a  morbid  curiosity 
by  gazing  on  the  face  of  the  dead.  When  all  had  left,  I 
prepared  to  go  home  by  myself.  As  I  came  downstairs  I 
met  Mr.  Loudman. 

"  Here  is  your  pay,  Miss  Ward." 

"Pay,  sir?" 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Chauncy  authorized  me  to  engage  the  choir, 
and,  as  it  is  not  in  the  line  of  their  regular  duties,  to  give 
the  singers  ten  dollars  apiece." 

"But  I  do  not  belong  to  the  choir." 

"No  matter.  You  did  the  work.  Here  is  the  money. 
Take  it,  please." 

My  pride  here  asserted  itself.  I  take  pay  ?  Indeed  I'll 
Dot !  But,  suddenly  remembering  my  father,  I  yielded  arid 
took  the  money,  and  went  home. 

When  I  arrived  I  found  trouble  enough.     Father   had 


THE    SOPRANO.  39 

come  in,  quite  broken  down  by  a  new  sorrow.  His  book 
keeper,  a  man  whom  he  had  trusted  for  years,  had  absconded, 
taking  with  him  every  cent  of  my  father's  ready  money. 
When  I  entered  our  sitting-room,  I  found  my  mother  in 
tears,  and  my  father  sitting  before  the  fire,  with  his  face  in 
his  hands,  the  picture  of  despair. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mother?  " 

"  Trouble  enough,  dear.  Jepson,  the  book-keeper,  has 
run  away." 

"  That  is  no  loss.     I  am  sure  nobody  cares." 

"We  would  not  care,"  said  my  father,  "  if  he  had  left  us 
anything ;  but  he  has  not.  We  haven't  fifty  cents  in  the 
house." 

"  Never  mind.  pa.  Let  me  call  one  of  the  servants,  and 
we  will  have  dinner.  After  that  you  will  feel  better." 

'  Servants  ?  We  have  none.  They  have  all  gone,  — 
went  as  soon  as  they  heard  the  news." 

"  Well  —  dear,  let  me  play  servant.  I  know  how  to 
cook." 

"  Very  little  will  your  knowledge  avail  us.  What  have 
we  in  the  house  to  buy  anything  with  ?  And  who  will 
trust  us  now?  " 

"Then  we  will  pay  cash,"  said  I,  triumphantly  display 
ing  my  ten-dollar  bill. 

"  What's  that  you  say,  Jule  ?  " 

"  I  say,  we  will  pay  cash,  for  here  is  the  money." 

"Where  did  you  get  it?" 


40  THE   SOPRANO. 

"  I  earned  it." 

"How?" 

"By  singing.  Come,  take  it,  pa.  Go  to  the  store,  and 
get  something  for  dinner." 

"  No,  dear,  I  cannot  take  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"It  is  not  mine.  It  belongs  to  you.  You  had  better 
keep  it.  You  will  need  it  all  soon  enough." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  father.     Please  take  it." 

"  I  had  rather  not." 

"  But  you  must,"  cried  I,  forcing  the  bill  into  his  hand. 
He  would  not  take  it.  "Mother,  do  reason  with  him.  He 
does  not  know  what  he  is  saying." 

All  the  reply  I  received  was  fresh  tears. 

"Now,  pa,  you  must  take  the  money,  or  I  shall  at  once 
go  out  and  spend  it  for  you." 

"  Well,  child,  I'll  take  it  upon  this  one  condition,  that  I 
may  return  it  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  You're  sensible  now.  I  am  sorry  it  is  such  a  small 
sum.  I  wish  I  had  more." 

"  Never  mind,  Julia,  this  is  the  day  of  small  things  with 
us." 


THE   SOPRANO.  41 


CHAPTER  III. 

"ALL  THAT  HATH   LIFE   AND  BKEATH    SING  TO  THE    LORD."  —  Hymn 

of  Praise. 

ON  the  following  Sunday  I  again  sang  in  the  choir,  Miss 
Vane  being  still  sick.  To  be  brief,  she  never  recovered,  but 
died  soon  after,  and  I  stepped  into  her  place  with  a  salary 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year.  Trifling  as  this 
seemed,  I  was  glad  to  accept  it,  in  spite  of  my  disagreeable 
surroundings.  At  first,  I  tried  to  improve  things  in  the 
choir ;  but  failed  signally,  and  gave  it  up.  So  far,  I  have 
been  telling  you  of  things  that,  perhaps,  you  knew  before. 
All  this,  as  perhaps  you  remember,  took  place  before  you 
moved  from  Rockford.  Your  departure  was  the  second  trial 
of  my  life.  It  was  sad  to  have  you  leave  us,  Jane ;  you 
used  to  brighten  and  cheer  me  up  when  I  was  despondent 
and  discouraged.  Doubtless  you  also  remember  how  we 
gave  up  our  house,  and  went  to  live  in  the  little  cottage  be 
hind  your  father's  mill.  After  you  left  us.  things  got  set 
tled  somehow,  and  life  began  to  be  very  humdrum.  About 
3ix  months  after  I  joined  the  choir,  the  calm  surface  of  my 
life  was  disturbed  by  a  ripple  that  gradually  rose  into  waves, 
that  nearly  went  over  me.  Miss  Playon  resigned,  and  we 
had  a  new  organist.  It  seemed  a  trifling  matter,  but  to  me  it 


42  THE   SOPRANO. 

proved  the  beginning  of  my  career.  To  the  new  organist 
I  owe  everything.  To  be  sure,  he  could  not  aid  me  greatly 
beyond  setting  me  on  the  right  road,  and  taking  the  first 
steps  therein  with  me.  If  there  is  anything  about  my  sing 
ing  that  deserves  praise,  to  him  belongs  the  greater  part  of 
the  credit.  It  is  true  he  only  took  the  first  steps  to  aid  me ; 
but  if  the  first  had  not  been  taken,  none  others  could  have 
been.  Personally,  he  was  a  young  gentleman,  quite  reserved, 
and  very  silent  at  times;  but  able  to  express  himself  plainly 
and  well  when  it  was  necessary.  Many  people  thought 
him  morose,  but  they  only  judged  from  the  surface  ;  he  was 
kind,  liberal,  thoroughly  educated,  and  capable  of  great 
emotion,  if  the  crust  of  reserve  and  silence  was  once  broken. 
In  a  crowd  of  men  he  would  pass  almost  unnoticed,  his  plain 
face  expressing  little  beyond  the  average  American  young 
man  of  sense  and  brains.  Among  his  friends  he  was  known 
simply  as  Frank. 

"  Why,  Julia,  I  know  a  Frank  !     He  used  to  be  very 
much  such  a  person  as  you  describe." 

"  Used  to  be  !     Is  he  not  the  same  now?  " 
"  Oh,  dear  !  no.     I  soon  cured  him  of  his  reserve." 
"  He  must  be  a  friend  of  yours." 
"  We  are  both  very  good  friends." 
"  Tell  me  more  about  him.     I  am  interested." 
"  Not  now,  by  and  by.     Go  on  with  your  own  story.     I 
can  tell  you  mine  some  other  time." 

On  the  Saturday  evening  before  he   entered  upon  hia 


THE   SOPRANO.  43 

duties  as  organist,  I  went  to  the  church  a  little  earlier  than 
usual,  or  the  others  were  a  grain  late,  I  am  not  sure  which ; 
but  I  am  certain  I  got  there  before  the  others.  When  I  opened 
the  door  of  the  church,  I  heard  the  organ  being  played. 
Not  caring  to  go  upstairs  before  the  rest  came,  I  sat  down 
in  a  pew  near  the  door,  just  within  the  dusky  shadow  of  the 
gallery.  There  was  but  one  light  burning,  and  that  was 
over  the  desk  of  the  organ ;  the  rest  of  the  place  was  in  par 
tial  gloom.  The  gilded  leaves  of  the  great  Bible  on  the 
pulpit  glistened  brightly,  and  the  great  beams  in  the  lofty 
ceiling  stood  out  sharply  against  the  dark  roof.  The  rest  of 
the  place  was  dim  and  misty.  The  organ  in  our  church  is, 
as  you  know,  neither  a  large  nor  particularly  fine  one,  yet, 
as  I  sat  there  listening  to  the  music,  I  felt  certain  it  was  a 
new  one,  or  else  being  played  by  fresh  hands.  Miss  Playon 
had  never  made  it  sing  before ;  it  roared  and  thundered 
loud  enough  beneath  her  fingers,  but  now  it  sang,  not  loudly, 
but  sweetly.  Thinking  that  perhaps  the  society  had  in 
dulged  in  a  new  organ,  I  rose  and  went  up  the  broad  aisle, 
till  I  could  get  a  view  of  the  instrument.  The  organ  had 
not  been  changed,  but  the  player  had.  Becoming  very  much 
interested  in  the  matter,  I  put  on  a  bold  face  and  marched 
upstairs  to  see  who  it  could  be.  As  I  entered  the  choir, 
the  young  man  turned  towards  me,  nodded  pleasantly,  said 
"good-evening,"  and  went  on  playing  without  once  stop 
ping.  Taking  my  usual  seat,  I  took  up  a  book  as  if  to  read, 
but  I  cculd  do  nothing  savQ  listen.  The  music  fasci- 


44  THE   SOPRANO. 

nated  me.  I  had  never  heard  anything  like  it.  At  last  my 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  my  discretion,  and  I  went  and 
stood  beside  the  strange  musician,  to  see  him  play,  and  to 
find  out  what  music-book  he  played  from.  Presently  he 
stopped  and  began  turning  the-  leaves  of  the  music-book  be 
fore  him. 

"  What  book  is  that,  sir?" 

"Rink's  School." 

"Rink's  School?" 

"Yes.  C.  H.  Rink's  'Modern  School  for  the  Organ.'  It 
contains  some  of  the  best  music  ever  written  for  the  organ." 

"  I  did  not  know  organ  music  was  so  pleasing  before.  I 
thought  it  was  very  scientific  and  uninteresting." 

"  Most  of  it  is  scientific,  but  to  me  that  gives  it  interest. 
Did  you  not  like  that  fugue  ?  " 

"  I  like  the  music,  but  must  confess  I  don't  know  what 
a  fugue  is." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  for  it  gives  one  a  chance  to  tell  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

" Do  you  see  the  first  two  bars  of  that  piece? "  said  he, 
pointing  to  a  piece  in  D  minor  on  page  twenty-one  of  his 
book.  Of  course  I  saw  the  two  measures,  but  they  con 
tained  nothing  very  interesting;  "only  a  short  melody  of 
seven  notes." 

"  Well,  that  short  melody,  as  you  call  it,  is  the  theme. 


THE   SOPRANO.  45 

Listen  and  observe  how  our  author  treats  it :  now.  making 
the  soprano  carry  it  above  all,  now  the  tenor  lead  it  through 
a  maze  of  harmony  ;  then  the  alto  repeat  it  in  an  undertone ; 
now  the  bass  emphasize  it  in  double  octaves ;  now  on  the 
outside,  and  then  on  the  inside  parts.  Over  and  over  again, 
threaded  through  the  whole  piece  from  beginning  to  end,  is 
the  same  simple  little  seven  note  theme." 
"  Play*it  once  more,  sir." 

When  he  had  finished  playing  it  the  second  time,  he 
said :  — 

"Could  you  follow  it?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly.  I  am  delighted  with  it.  How  rich  the 
harmony  is,  and  so  chromatic  !  I  never  heard  anything  like 
it  before." 

"  Did  not  your  former  organist  give  you  a  fugue  occa 
sionally?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  she  made  up  her  own  voluntaries." 

"Indeed  !  She  must  have  been  a  genius.  I  should  not 
dare  to  improvise  in  church." 

"  She  was  far  from  a  genius,  I  can  assure  you.  Most  of 
her  music  seemed  to  consist  of  a  mere  succession  of  chords." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  you  say  this." 

"Why  so?" 

"  Because  I  consider  the  position  of  organist  to  be  fully 
equal  to  that  of  preacher." 

"Indeed!" 

'  I  am  sure  it  is.     Does  he  not  lead  the  congregation  in 


46  THE    SOPRANO. 

an  act  of  worship  ?  When  he  plays  his  instrument  before 
all  the  people,  is  it  not  as  much  an  act  of  worship  as  if  he 
had  said  a  prayer  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way  before,  sir,  and  yet 
1  can  understand  you.  Music  sometimes  expresses  more 
than  words." 

"  Then  why  should  he  ofier  up  before  them,  and  to  their 
Maker,  mere  vaporings,  in  which  there  is  neither  sense  nor 
soul,  and  that,  too,  when  all  the  sublime  thoughts  of  the 
great  masters  are  at  his  hand?  " 

"  Really,  sir,  your  views  of  organ-playing  are  so  novel 
that  I  hardly  know  what  to  say;  yet  I  think  you  are 
right."' 

Just  here  Mr.  Loudman  came  in  bringing  the  remainder 
of  the  choir.  We  were  then  introduced  to  our  new  organist, 
and  the  rehearsal  began.  Among  his  other  duties,  Mr. 
Loudman  had  always  taken  upon  himself  those  of  procuring 
the  hymns  of  Mr.  Purcell,  and  of  selecting  the  tunes  from 
the  music-book  that  were  to  be  sung  to  them.  On  this  oc 
casion  he  followed  his  usual  course,  and  gave  us  the  music 
we  were  to  sing  the  next  day.  Our  organist  took  the  mu 
sic,  played  it,  and  said  nothing,  though  it  was  evident  he 
•was  far  from  pleased. 

The  next  day  was  a  calm,  bright,  summer's  day.  A  very 
Sabbath  of  nature.  I  went  to  church  early,  as  was  my  cus 
tom,  took  my  seat  in  the  cool,  dimly  lighted  building  and 
waited  for  the  service  to  begin.  The  people  soon  began  to  come 


THE   SOPRANO.  47 

in,  and  as  usual  a  far  from  pleasing  noise  of  slamming  pew- 
doors  and  creaking  boots  filled  the  place,  driving  away  all 
thoughts  of  peace  and  worship.  While  I  was  watching  the 
people  find  their  seats,  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  sing 
ing  out  in  the  field  next  the  church,  —  faint,  and  seemingly 
far  away,  yet  it  was  music  plainly.  Wondering  what  it 
could  be,  I  listened  attentively.  Again  I  heard  it,  sweet, 
quiet,  and  soothing.  Suddenly  it  rose  higher  and  louder, 
rippled  a  little,  and  died  away  again.  Turning  round,  I  dis 
covered  the  music  was  from  the  organ,  touched  by  fresh  and 
rare  fingers.  Smooth,  unbroken,  and  like  an  unruffled 
stream  the  music  flowed  on,  making  a  new  and  better  Sab 
bath  of  the  place  and  day.  The  pew  doors  were  closed 
softly,  and  all  the  usual  bustle  and  stir  of  the  people  died 
away ;  it  was  very  quiet,  more  so  than  I  had  ever  known  in 
church  before.  At  last  the  voluntary  died  away  in  the 
softest  piano,  and  came  to  an  end  amid  the  soft  breathing  of 
the  notes.  To  me  it  was  something  quite  wonderful.  I  had 
never  seen  a  congregation  so  completely  calmed  down  into 
such  a  state  of  absolute  silence.  Then  our  white-haired 
old  pastor  rose  and  read  the  hymn  :  — 

"  How  gentle  God's  commands ! 
How  kind  his  precepts  are ! 
Come,  cast  your  burden  on  the  Lord  I 
And  trust  his  constant  care." 

Nothing  could  be  more  in  keeping  with  the  music  we  had 
just  heard ;  it  seemed  a  remarkable  coincidence  to  me.    Little 


48  THE   SOPRANO. 

did  I  know  that  consummate  art  was  at  the  bottom  of  it,  nor 
did  I  know  that  our  organist  had  made  himself  acquainted 
with  the  general  style  of  the  sermon  and  hymns,  and  fitted 
his  music  to  it.  Now,  if  the  tune  that  had  been  given  out 
for  the  hymn  had  been  in  keeping  with  the  words  the  whole 
service  would  have  been  perfect.  But  no,  we  sang  it  to  "  La- 
ban,"  and  by  so  doing  made  the  hymn  simply  ridiculous. 
If  we  had  sung  the  words  of  "  Home,  sweet  home,"  to 
"  Hail  Columbia,"  we  could  not  have  been  more  widely  out 
of  all  propriety.  The  only  redeeming  feature  was  that  both 
hymn  and  tune  were  of  the  same  metre.  The  two  other 
hymns  were  just  as  badly  selected,  and  it  was  plain  that  if 

• 

our  new  organist  was  to  remain,  a  change  of  some  kind 
would  be  necessary.  He  was  evidently  disgusted  with  Mr. 
Loudman's  selections;  however,  he  said  nothing.  The  fol 
lowing  Saturday  evening  when  we  again  met  for  rehearsal, 
it  was  evident  that  action,  not  talk,  was  to  be  the  order  of 
procedure.  I  was  a  little  late,  and  found  the  rest  waiting 
for  me.  On  our  music-racks  were  four  copies  of  a  new  mu 
sic-book  "  The  National  Lyre."  The  book  we  had  been 
using  was  called  the  "-Temple  Cymball."  Perhaps  you 
remember  it;  a  book  of  "original  and  selected  music." 
"  Original  "  in  its  weakness  and  emptiness,  and  "  selected  " 
from  the  dregs  of  the  opera.  Just  as  I  took  my  seat,  the 
alto  leaned  over  and  said  in  a  whisper : — 

"You    ought  to  have  been  here  a  little  sooner,  Miss 
Ward." 


THE   SOPRANO.  49 

"Why  so?" 

"  Mr.  Loudman  and  the  organist  had  a  little  passage  at 
arms,  and  Mr.  Loudman  has  just  gone  away  highly  indig 
nant." 

"  Really  !    What  was  it  all  about  ?  " 

"About  tunes  and  books.  The  organist  wanted  to  se 
lect  the  tunes,  and  Mr.  Loudman  preferred  to  do  it  himself; 
so  there  they  had  it." 

"Which  gave  in?" 

"Mr.  Loudman,  of  course." 

"I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  So  am  I,  and  that  is  not  all,  — we  are  to  have  a  new 
music-book." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that  too." 

"Why?" 

"  We  shall  sing  something  new.  I  am  tired  of  those  old 
tunes." 

The  new  book,  and  the  new  style  of  music  that  was  in 
troduced  into  the  choir,  pleased  us  greatly.  It  was  some 
thing  quite  different  from  anything  we  had  sung  before. 
Purer,  more  simple  and  refined ;  then,  too,  we  could  not  fail 
to  notice  how  the  words  were  married  to  music  that  seeme^ 
written  for  them.  In  fact,  our  whole  service  was  remodelled 
and  made  one  harmonious  whole,  instead  of  the  disjointed 
affair  that  it  had  hitherto  been.  These  changes  were  not 
affected  at  once,  nor  without  difficulty.  We  had  a  long  and 
wordy  war  between  our  organist  and  the  church  committee. 


50  THE   SOPRANO. 

The  people  generally  took  the  side  of  the  new  man.  The 
improvement  in  the  music  was  too  palpable,  and  though  at 
first  the  music  of  the  player  did  not  attract  much  attention, 
yet  in  time  its  purity,  sweetness,  and  elevated  character 
won  all  hearts  and  charmed  every  ear.  I  tell  you  all  this, 
because  I  wish  to  show  you  how  this  young  man  first  drew 
my  attention  to  the  true  and  beautiful  in  music,  and  led  me 
on,  step  by  step,  till  I  became  absorbed  in  my  art,  and  fired 
with  an  ambition  to  pursue  it  for  its  own  sake,  and  to  strive 
ever  after  the  highest  excellence  in  it.  One  Sunday  after 
noon,  as  he  was  playing  his  organ  while  the  congregation 
passed  out,  I  lingered  after  the  others  had  gone.  Going  up 
to  the  organ  desk,  and  standing  by  his  side,  I  watched  him 
play,  and  listened  to  the  stream  of  harmony  that  flowed 
from  the  pipes  over  my  head.  It  was  a  simple  five-part  pre 
lude  in  A  minor.  Any  child  with  the  least  knowledge  of 
piano  playing  could  have  rendered  it,  so  easy  was  it.  He 
was  using  the  full  organ,  and  the  slow  and  almost  mournful 
chords  seem  to  roll  in  heavy  masses  from  the  pipes.  When 
he  finished,  he  turned  to  me  and  said :  — 

"Solid,  is  it  not?" 

"  Yes,  but  very  sad." 

"Oh;  no!  to  me  there  is  nothing  mournful  about  that. 
It  is  in  a  minor  key ;  but  for  all  that  it  inspires  me  with  faith 
and  trust.  Lively,  dance  music  makes  me  sad ;  this  never 
does." 

•l  It  would  sound  sad  enough,  if  I  should  play  it." 


THE   SOPRANO.  51 

"Why  so?' 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  only  know  that  when  you  play  such 
music  it  is  no  longer  mournful,  but  filled  with  faith  and 
peace.  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  sing  as  you  know  how  to 

play." 

"  I  don't  understand  you." 

"  I  mean  I  wish  I  could  put  my  whole  soul  into  my  music, 
as  you  seem  to.  I  wish  I  had  your  expression." 

"  If  you  do  not  put  feeling  into  your  music,  it  is  because 
you  do  not  have  it." 

"  Sir  !  " 

"Be  not  offended.  I  speak  plainly,  yet  with  kindness 
To  be  able  to  express  feeling,  we  must  have  it  in  us." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  am  devoid  of  feeling,  yet  I  never  seem 
to  sing  with  the  expression  I  desire." 

"  You  have  not  suffered  enough  yet." 

"  Suffered  enough  !  " 

"Yes,  you  have  not  yet  passed  through  any  deep  experi 
ences  in  life ;  therefore  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  express  in 
music  thoughts  and  feelings  you  never  had.  The  Germans 
have  a  saying  that  I  think  is  a  true  one :  '  He  only  is  a 
musician  who  has  suffered.'  ' 

"  I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  say  that.  It  makes  me  think 
that  one  has  to  pay  a  great  price  for  the  true  and  good  ir. 
art." 

"  All  valuable  things  are  costly." 

"  But  is  it  worth  the  price  ?  " 


52  'liiE   SOPKANO. 

"That  is  for  each  on 3  to  decide  for  himself.  One  thing 
is  certain,  only  '  thiough  darkness  riseth  light.'  " 

This  idea  was  ne*  to  me,  and  I  leaned  back  against  the 
organ,  lost  in  though *,  while  he  went  on  playing  those  state 
ly  minor  strains.  I  listened  attentively  to  discover  what 
expression  he  was  putting  into  them.  Sad  they  were  not ; 
rather  restful  and  calm  than  sad.  Presently  he  stopped  and 
said :  — 

"  Yet  this  is  not  all.  One  may  have  a  world  of  feeling 
and  not  be  able  to  express  it ;  to  that  must  be  added  a  knowl 
edge  of  those  mechanical  laws  by  which  sound  is  produced." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?" 

"  No.  There  is  one  thing  more  needed  to  make  a  musi 
cian,  —  the  physical  control  of  the  instrument  used,  be  it  an 
organ,  or  a  human  voice." 

"  Then  music  divides  itself  into  three  parts,  —  the  aesthet- 
ical  or  emotional,  the  mechanical,  and  the  physical." 

"You  have  described  it  exactly.  To  be  successful  in 
music  one  must  be  a  mechanic  and  a  doctor,  and  have  added 
thereto  ali  the  training  and  culture  of  a  refined  and  educated 
man  or  x/man." 

11  Then  I  neVtsr  shall  be  a  singer.  I  can  never  accom 
plish  all  these." 

"lam  not  so  sure  of  that.  You  never  will  know  what 
yen  can  do  till  you  try." 

By  this  time  all  the  people  had  gone,  and  we  found  our- 


THE   SOPRANO.  53 

selves  alone  in  the  church  with  the  twilight  just  gathering 
about  us." 

"  Really,  sir,  we  ou^ht  to  go.  We  are  ^uite  alonje.  What 
will  they  say  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  guess,  nor  do  I  care.  Our  intensions  are 
innocent.  Who  can  blame  us?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure ;  but  they  do  talk  so  !  " 

iJy  this  time  we  had  reached  the  outer  door  of  the  church 
but  found  it  fast.  We  were  locked  in. 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Ward,  we  can  get  out  somehow.  Let 
us  go  downstairs  to  the  vestry,  and  get  out  of  some  low 
window." 

Well,  we  did  so,  there  being  no  other  way  of  escape. 
Frank  climbed  out  first,  and  then  helped  me,  and  we  both 
passed  through  the  gate  at  the  side  of  the  church.  As  we 
came  to  the  street  the  two  Waring  girls  passed  along.  At 
sight  of  us  they  exchanged  a  meaning  glance  with  each 
other. 

"  Now  for  detraction  and  perhaps  slander,"  J  sni<3  to  my 
self  when  I  reached  home. 


54  TPS   SOPRANO. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"THROUGH  DARKNESS  RISETH  LIGHT." •- Elijah. 

"To  be  a  singer  one  must  be  a  mechanic,  a  doctor,  ani 
have  a  certain  amount  of  experience."  These  words  kept 
ringing  in  my  ears  day  and  night.  That  I  wanted  to  be  a 
singer  was  plain  enough,  how  could  it  be  otherwise,  for 
Frank  had  inspired  me  with  a  love  of  music  I  had  not 
thought  was  in  me.  You  must  bear  in  mind  that  I  saw 
him  regularly  three  times  a  week,  sometimes  oftener,  and 
on  every  occasion  he  taught  me  something  new  in  his  art. 
We  talked  of  nothing  else  when  together,  and  his  music  was 
jf  such  a  high  order  that  it  carried  me  into  a  new  world, 
and  inspired  me  to  strive  after  his  ideals.  In  my  own 
music  I  found  myself  imitating  him ;  I  sought  to  acquire, 
as  far  as  I  could,  the  careful  and  painstaking  style  he  always 
maintained.  Every  little  hint  that  he  gave  me  I  eagerly 
adopted.  I  tried  my  best  to  sing  with  all  the  expression  I 
could  command.  The  new  music-book,  and  the  purer  and 
more  elevated  style  of  music  we  sang  from  it,  gave  me  a 
new  insight  into  the  art,  and  a  new  love  for  it.  The  fact 
is,  my  ambition  was  fired,  and  I  desired  to  become  a  singer, 
a  great  singer.  But  how  could  I  compass  these  three  r3q- 
uisites  ?  How  could  I  master  the  science  of  acoustics,  or 


THE    SOPRANO.  55 

study  physiology  sufficiently  to  understand  the  structure 
and  functions  of  my  own  vocal  organs  ?  As  for  experience, 
I  had  never  had  any.  I  was  too  young  to  have  passed 
through  much  of  anything.  I  knew  what  I  would  do.  I 
would  consult  Frank.  He  would  help  me  ;  but  ought  I  to 
do  so.  Did  I  not  see  him  quite  enough  already?  Was  it 
right  for  us  to  meet  so  often.  We  were  very  good  friends, 
but  where  would  our  friendship  end  ?  Thanks  to  certain 
young  people,  we  were  talked  about  already.  I  had  been 
sitting  in  our  little  back  parlor  sewing,  while  these  thoughts 
passed  through  my  mind.  Suddenly  the  door  was  opened, 
and  my  father  entered  very  much  excited. 

"  Get  your  things,  Julia,  as  quickly  as  you  can  and  call 
the  doctor.  Mother  has  been  taken  suddenly  ill." 

Hastily  getting  my  hat  and  shawl,  I  started  out  for  the 
doctor,  and  in  an  instant  all  thoughts  of  music  were  forgot 
ten.  The  subject  never  once  entered  my  head  for  six  days, 
—  till  I  heard  the  sad  wail  that  stole  from  the  organ,  as  we 
sat  by  my  mother's  coffin,  at  her  funeral  in  our  church. 


"  Is  your  mother  dead,  Julia?  " 
"  Yes,  Jane,  did  you  not  know  it  ?  " 
"  No ;  how  should  I  ?     How  sorry  I  am !     Why  did  you 
not  tell  me  before?" 

1  I  supposed  you  knew  it." 

*  No,  dear,  I  never  heard  of  it  till  now.     It  was  a  sad 


56  THE   SOPRANO. 

blow  for  you.    She  was  a  lovely  woman,  and  a  good  mother. 
Was  she  sick  long  ?  " 

No.  She  was  taken  away  from  us  almost  instantly.  She 
was  confined  to  her  bed  but  twenty-four  hours  when  she 
died.  Those  were  sad  days  for  us.  My  father  never  en 
tirely  recovered  from  the  loss.  He  has  been  a  poor,  broken 
man  ever  since.  Well,  let  me  tell  you  about  the  music  at 
the  funeral.  It  made  a  deep  impression  upon  me.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  great  sigh  that  seemed  to  break  from  the 
organ  as  we  entered  the  church.  Not  loud,  but  sad,  gloomy, 
and  strange.  I  had  never  heard  anything  like  it  before.  I 
could  not  believe  it  was  our  old  organ  that  produced  such 
tones.  After  a  while,  the  slow  minor  chords  became  broken 
and  fragmentary,  though  still  bound  together  by  a  thread, 
as  if  the  music  was  halting  and  pausing,  unwilling  to  express 
its  sorrow.  Suddenly  it  slid  from  G  minor  to  some  major 
flat  key,  and  died  away  to  softest  piano.  The  sting  was 
taken  from  it,  but  the  pain  remained,  though  lulled.  At 
last,  it  melted  away  into  silence,  leaving  me,  for  one,  quieted 
and  sustained.  Then  came  the  reading,  and  after  that  a 
hymn.  This  I  dreaded ;  I  was  afraid  Mr.  Loudman  would 
interfere,  and  set  the  words  to  some  outrageously  inappropri 
ate  music.  I  was  happily  disappointed,  for  a  more  exquis 
ite  combining  of  word  and  music  I  never  heard.  If  the 
voluntary  soothed  me,  the  singing  of  the  hymn  restored  my 
drooping  faith.  After  the  hymn  came  the  prayer.  Hardly 


THE    SOPRANO.  57 

had  the  "amen  "  been  pronounced,  when  I  seemed  to  hear 
another  prayer, —  a  prayer  without  words,  I  cannot  describe 
it  to  you.  I  have  often  seen  and  played  it  since  myself.  It 
is  on  the  seventh  page  of  "  Rink's  School."  After  the 
benediction  that  followed,  we  rose  to  follow  my  mother's  re 
mains  to  the  church-yard.  Perhaps  you  wonder  how  I  can 
speak  of  this  so  calmly ;  simply  because  I  was  calm  my 
self  at  the  time.  The  music  inspired  me.  I  had  buried  my 
dead.  My  mother  was  safe,  and  at  rest.  I  was  almost  glad 
for  her.  She  would  have  no  longer  the  heavy  burden  of  our 
semi-poverty  to  bear,  but  was  at  rest  in  her  Redeemer.  Just 
as  I  opened  the  pew-door  and  took  my  father's  trembling 
arm  to  go  out,  the  organ  broke  forth  clear  and  emphatic. 
No  gloomy  minor  strains  now,  but,  suiting  my  mood,  it 
seemed  to  sing  of  hope  and  trust.  I  cannot  explain  to  you 
how  it  was  ;  in  fact.  I  never  expect  to  have  it  explained ;  but 
as  I  heard  the  music,  these  words  came  into  my  mind,  — I 
know  that  her  Redeemer  liveth,  and  though  worms  destroy 
her  body,  yet  in  her  flesh  shall  she  see  God. 

On  the  following  Saturday  evening  I  went  to  rehearsal, 
as  usual.  Duties  must  be  performed,  if  sorrows  are  heavy. 
I  reached  the  church  before  the  other  members  of  the  choir 
arrived.  Frank  was  there,  and  busy  at  his  organ.  As  soon 
as  I  entered,  he  placed  a  handsomely  bound  book  in  my 
hand,  and  asked  if  I  would  like  to  sing  an  air  from  the 
"  Messiah,"  next  Sunday. 

"  I  should  be  pleased  to,  but  really  I  never  heard  of  the 
'Messiah  '  before.' 


58  THE    SOPRANO. 

"  Never  heard  of  Handel's  '  Messiah?  '  " 

"No;  what  is  it?" 

"  An  oratorio." 

"  I  never  attended  an  oratorio  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  never  mind.  The  aria  is  simple  enough.  Most 
good  music  is  simple." 

Showing  me  the  piece,  he  began  to  play  the  prelude.  I 
recognized  it  at  once.  It  was  the  same  thing  he  had  played 
at  my  mother's  funeral.  My  eyes  glistened  when  he  com 
menced  ;  but  when  the  voice  part  came,  the  words  so  filled 
me  with  thoughts  of  my  mother,  that  somehow  the  music 
sang  itself.  When  I  finished  I  sat  down  quite  overcome. 
The  music  had  affected  me  in  a  way  I  never  dreamed 
of." 

"  Are  you  sure  you  never  saw  that  before,  Julia?  " 

"No,  Frank,  but  I  have  heard  it  played." 

"  Where,  and  when?  " 

"  At  my  mother's  funeral." 

"  That  accounts  for  the  wonderful  expression  you  put 
into  it." 

"  Did  I  sing  with  expression?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed.     You  sang  as  if  you  believed  it." 

"  And  is  that  the  secret  of  expressing  singing?  " 

"  Partly.  Through  suffering  you  have  become  a  musi 
cian,  as  far  as  mere  expression  is  concerned." 

"  Now  I  understand  what  you  meant  when  you  said, 
'  through  darkness  riseth  light.' ' 


THE   SOPRANO.  59 

"  And  I,  Julia,  understand  now  why  you  created  such  a 
furore  at  the  Music  Hall,  last  Saturday,  and  why  it  was  you 
sang  that  aria  without  once  looking  on  the  book.  You  were 
thinking  of  your  mother,  were  you  not?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  I  quite  forgot  myself.  The  orchestra  became 
Frank's  organ,  and  that  great  hall  dwindled  down  to  our 
little  church  at  Rockford.  I  only  came  to  myself  when 
that  ridiculous  man  in  the  gallery  cried  '  Bravo ! '  " 

But  not  alone  of  my  mother  did  I  think.  Another 
thought  came  to  me,  and  almost  inspired  me. 


<)0  THE    SOPRANO. 


CHAPTER  V 

"HE  THAT  SHALL  ENDURE  TO  T*~     XND  SHALL  BE  SAVED."  —  Elijah 

THE  following  Saturday  I  was  in  my  seat  in  the  choir, 
as  usual.  The  lamps  on  the  organ  were  lighted  when  I 
arrived,  for  it  was  now  nearly  September,  and  the  twilight 
faded  away  early.  While  waiting  for  the  rehearsal  to  be 
gin,  I  noticed  a  white-winged  insect  fluttering  round  the 
lamp  over  my  head ;  he  seemed  fascinated  by  the  light,  and 
buzzed  about  the  hot  chimney,  nearer  and  nearer.  At  last 
his  curiosity  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  dashed  at  the 
glass.  Alas  !  poor  little  thing,  in  an  instant  he  was  strug 
gling  helplessly  on  my  open  book,  his  wings  nearly  burnt 
off.  He  did  not  seem  to  suffer  much,  but  could  not  fly. 
Not  wishing  to  hurt  him,  I  slid  him  off  the  book  on  to  the 
top  of  the  gallery  railing ;  here  he  wandered  aimlessly 
about,  and  at  last,  coming  too  near  the  edge,  tumbled  over 
into  the  darkness  below. 

At  the  close  of  the  rehearsal  I  lingered  after  the  rest  had 
gone,  to  hear  Frank  play.  He  was  experimenting  on  one 
of  the  tunes  we  were  to  sing  the  next  day,  changing  the 
key  from  E  flat  to  D  sharp. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that  1" 

"  To  avoid  the  wolf  in  the  organ." 


THE    SOPRANO.  61 

"  The  wolf!" 

"  Yes,  did  you  not  know  there  was  one?  " 
•"No.     Tell  me  about  it." 

"  You  see  that  key,"  said  he,  pointing  to  C  sharp. 

"  Plainly." 

"  Sometimes  it  is  C  sharp  and  sometimes  D  flat.  In 
music  those  two  notes  are  quite  different.  In  keyed  instru 
ments,  like  the  piano  or  organ,  they  are  united  in  one  key. 
Now,  as  they  cannot  tune  the  string  or  pipe  to  both,  they 
either  go  between  the  two,  or  favor  one  at  the  expense  of 
the  other." 

"  Could  they  not  have  a  key  for  each  ?  " 

"  No.  It  would  be  almost  impossible  to  handle  such  an 
instrument." 

"  How  is  this  organ  tuned?  " 

"In  favor  of  the  sharps.  If  played  in  sharp  keys,  it 
sounds  in  better  tune  than  when  played  in  flat  keys ;  so  I 
try  to  avoid  the  flat  keys,  as  when  they  are  used  you  hear 
that  discord  the  organ  builders  call  the  'wolf.'  " 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  have  learned  something  to-day.    I 
need  not  say  'perdidi  diem  '  to-night." 

' '  I  hope  you  seldom  have  to  say  it. ' ' 

Then  he  went  on  playing  again.  Soon  I  ventured  to 
speak  to  him  once  more. 

"  Did  I  tell  you  that  I  intend  to  leave  the  choir?  " 

"No." 


62  THE    SOPRANO. 

"  To-morrow  will  be  my  last  Sunday  here;  I  am  going 
away  to  live." 

"  Going  away  ?  "  and  he  looked  up  surprised  and  troubled. 

"  Yes.  I  am  going  to  the  city  to  study  music.  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  become  a  singer,  and  follow  music  as  a 
profession." 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  undertaking ?  Have  you 
looked  deeply  into  the  matter?  " 

"  Indeed  I  have.  I  propose  to  live  with  an  aunt  of 
mine,  give  music-lessons,  and  sing  in  some  choir,  and  so  pay 
for  my  education.  It  will  cost  me  no  more  to  live  there 
than  here." 

The  only  answer  I  got  to  this  was  a  few  vague,  broken 
chords  from  the  organ.  The  player  seemed  lost  in  thought. 
"  Furthermore,  I  propose  to  study  the  anatomy  of  the 
throat,  and  to  attend  lectures  on  the  science  of  acoustics. 
I  mean  to  make  myself  perfect  in  my  art.  Do  you  not 
wish  me  God-speed  ?  " 

"  I  do,  but  my  wishes  are  tuned  to  a  minor  key." 

"Why  so?" 

"With  speeding  comes  parting." 

"  That  is  true.     Life  is  made  up  of  partings." 

"  That  is  why  life  is  so  sad." 

Then  he  turned  away  from  me,  as  if  he  wished  to  hide  his 
face  by  pretending  to  arrange  the  stops.  Directly,  a  quiet 
melody  stole  from  some  sweet  toned-stop ;  it  was  new  to  me, 
and  so  pleasing  that  I  involuntarily  stopped  to  listen.  As 


THE   SOPRANO.  63 

the  music  breathed  slowly  forth,  I  became  more  and  more 
charmed ;  sitting  down  on  a  seat  by  the  desk,  I  leaned  back 
against  the  organ,  and  facing  the  great  gloomy  church. 
Frank  was  beside  me,  but  looking  the  other  way.  I  could 
see  his  face  plainly,  lighted  up  as  it  was  by  the  lamps  over 
our  heads.  A  smile  was  on  his  lips,  and  his  eyes,  though 
fastened  on  the  open  music-book  before  him,  seemed  to 
glisten  strangely.  Still  the  music  went  on ;  at  last  it  rose  in 
a  little  ripple,  trembled  slightly,  and  died  away  into  silence. 

But  I  cannot  tell  the  rest.  Sufficient  is  it  to  say  that 
to  my  surprise  he  then  and  there  told  me  he  loved  me ; 
that  he  could  not  help  it,  nor  keep  silence ;  that  it  would 
break  forth  into  words ;  my  sudden  departure  had  taught 
him  how  essential  I  was  to  his  happiness. 

I  could  not  and  did  not  love  him,  and  told  him  so.  It  is 
true  I  liked  him,  but  was  not  certain  of  myself  when  it  came 
to  more  than  that. 

At  last  a  deep  silence  fell  upon  us  both.  Suddenly  the 
bell  high  up  in  the  steeple  pealed  forth  ten  strokes,  while 
the  clock  on  the  front  of  the  gallery  chimed  sharply,  break 
ing  the  silence  of  the  dark  and  shadowy  place.  Looking 
round  at  the  organ,  I  saw  Frank  leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
music-rack  and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands. 

"  I  must  go  now.     It  is  very  late." 

"  In  a  moment,  Julia." 

Then  I  stood  up  by  the  organ,  and  laid  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 


64  THE  ,SOPRAN(/. 

"  Forgive  me,  Frank." 

'•Forgive  you?  What  have  I  to  forgive?  Forgive  me 
rather." 

"  Freely.  I  am  only  sorry  for  your  sake  that  it  can 
not  be.  I  must  go  now." 

"  Wait  till  I  close  the  organ,  and  shut  off  the  water,  and 
I  will  go  with  you." 

(The  wind  to  our  organ  was,  as  you  know,  supplied  by 
water-power.) 

"  Oh,  no,  let  me  go  alone.     I  prefer  it  so." 

Fearing  to  say  more,  I  left  the  organ-loft,  and  went  down 
stairs  into  the  gloomy  church.  As  I  opened  the  front  door 
I  paused  a  moment.  Should  I  go  back  to  him  ?  Perhaps  I 
am  mistaken.  Just  then  the  organ  spoke.  If  it  had  pos 
sessed  an  articulate  voice  it  could  not  have  expressed  more 
sorrow  and  disappointment.  As  I  heard  the  few  sad  chords 
that  echoed  through  the  building,  I  took  one  step  back 
ward.  It  was  very  dark  about  me,  though  light  above.  I 
could  not  find  the  stairs.  Pushing  the  door  open,  I  rushed 
into  the  street ;  the  night  was  cold  and  stormy.  Surely  it 
was  cloudy  within  and  cloudy  without.  As  I  walked  away, 
those  strange,  sad  chords  again  broke  on  my  ear.  They  have 
haunted  me  ever  since.  I  never  knew  what  they  were 
from,  till  long  years  after;  when  I  heard  an  orchestra 
play  the  introduction  to  the  "  Messiah,"  I  remembered  them 
at  once.  They  form  the  closing  movement  of  the  over 
ture. 


THE   SOPRANO.  66 

The  next  morning  I  rose  early  and  endeavored  to  find 
some  one  to  take  my  place  in  the  choir.  I  did  not  wish  to 
appear  there  myself.  My  efforts  were  fruitless,  and  I  was 
forced  to  sing  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
*  As  I  entered  the  choir  I  made  a  discovery.  Something 
had  happened.  Somebody  had  been  misdoing,  —  myself  evi 
dently.  The  choir  plainly  knew  of  something  to  my  dis 
credit.  Could,  it  be  possible  that  they  had  heard  of  my 
last  night's  experience?  Doubtful — very.  Personally  I 
was  sad,  nervous,  and  troubled,  though  I  hid  it  from  them, 
and  was  as  serene  as  a  summer 's-day.  What  it  was  all 
about,  I  did  not  learn  till  some  time  after,  when  I  heard 
through  a  friend  that  those  Waring  girls  had  amplified  and 
spread  abroad  our  escape  from  the  vestry  window.  And 
what  motive  could  they  have  had?  Jealousy.  Not  OD 
their  own  account,  for  they  could  not  sing,  but  in  behalf  of 
their  cousin,  our  alto.  The  alto  herself  was  a  good-enough 
girl,  and  the  idea  that  I  was  trying  to  overshadow  her 
never  would  have  entered  her  weak  little  head,  if  it  had  not 
been  put  there  by  others.  I  never  dreamt  of  such  a  thing ; 
why  should  I  ?  If  she  could  sing  better  than  I,  I  rejoiced 
in  it.  How  my  own  performance  struck  her  was  something 
I  never  thought  of.  What  difference  did  it  make  who  sang 
best  ?  Besides  who  could  decide  between  us  ?  Music  is 
not  an  exact  science.  No  one  can  say  with  absolute  cer 
tainty  which  is  the  best  of  two  performances.  I  can't  see 
the  sense  of  the  wretched  feelings  sometimes  indulged  in  by 

5 


66  THE    SOPRANO. 

singers.  Are  they  more  than  the  music,  or  was  music  writ 
ten  to  display  their  voices  ?  Truly,  the  ways  of  musical 
people  are  past  my  finding  out. 

I   got  through  the  morning  service  without  exchanging  a 
look  or  a  word  with  Frank.     At  last  I  went  home,  abso 
lutely  wretched.     Why  could  they  not  let  me  alone  in  my 
misery  ? 

The  afternoon  service  I  dreaded,  and  if  I  could  have  es 
caped  it,  I  would  have  done  BO  gladly.  As  I  could  not,  I 
went  determined  to  perform  my  duty  as  well  as  I  knew 
how,  and  then  bid  farewell  to  the  choir  forever.  The  first 
two  hymns  were  evidently  funereal  in  their  character.  Who 
was  to  be  preached  about  I  wondered.  When  the  sermon- 
time  came  I  shut  my  book,  and  prepared  to  listen  to  the  dis 
course.  This  was  not  a  hard  matter  now.  The  unbecom 
ing  behavior  that  had  so  shocked  me  on  my  first  entrance 
to  the  choir  had  given  place  to  some  sort  of  decorum. 
Frank  had  put  an  effectual  stopper  on  their  misconduct,  and 
that,  too,  without  creating  any  ill-will,  which  was  something 
wonderful ;  but  then  he  was  a  wonderful  fellow.  I  never 
expect  to  meet  his  equal. 

The  sermon  had  not  proceeded  far  before  I  discovered 
that  it  was  about  my  own  mother.  The  preacher  drew  a 
picture  of  her  character,  and  gave  a  sketch  of  her  good  and 
pure  life.  From  that  he  argued  her  present  happiness. 
Her  life  was  not  endsd,  bat  just  begun.  The  whole 
sermon  impressed  me  greatly.  I  saw  and  felt  the  force  of 


THE   SOPRANO.  67 

his  nrords.  I  firmly  believed  that  her  dear  eyes  were  be 
holding  her  God.  When  the  sermon  was  finished,  I  found 
myself  leaning  on  my  hands,  and  the  tears  streaming  through 
my  fingers,  —  not  tears  of  sorrow  alone,  but  of  thankful 
ness  that  she  was  safe  and  at  peace.  A  solemn  silence  fell 
on  all  the  people  as  the  minister  sat  down,  and  I  felt  that  I 
was  not  alone  in  my  grief.  Was  I  alone  in  my  faith  ? 
Suddenly  I  felt  a  light  pressure  on  my  arm ;  looking  up, 
I  found  Frank  near  me. 

"  Will  you  sing  the  aria  now  ? 

1  'Which  one? 

"  The  one  you  rehearsed  the  other  evening,  — the  sopra 
no  air  from  the  '  Messiah.' ' 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Then  he  placed  the  open  book  in  my  hand,  and  at  once 
began  to  play  the  prelude.  Now  my  opportunity  has  come. 
I  will  show  these  people  I  can  sing,  for  all  their  talk.  But 
this  is  not  a  good  thought  for  such  a  time  or  place.  No,  I'll 
not  care  anything  about  it  or  them.  I'll  sing  the  aria  to 
show  them  all  that  I  do  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth. 
Now  the  prelude  is  almost  over,  and  the  voice  part  begins. 
Listen,  you  people  !  Lend  your  ears,  not  to  my  music,  but 
to  my  belief.  Well,  I  sang  it  as  well  as  I  knew  how  at 
that  time,  which  I  suppose  was  poor  enough.  As  I  went 
along,  a  new  inspiration  came  to  me.  I  was  singing  to  his 
accompaniment.  It  was  the  last  time  I  should  do  so,  and 
to  the  faith  I  tried  to  express  in  the  music  was  added  a 


68  THE   SOPRANO. 

shade  of  sadness  at  parting  with  hjm.  When  it  was  fin 
ished  I  sat  down,  and  immediately  the  benediction  was  pro 
nounced,  and  the  people  began  to  go  out.  At  once  a  slow, 
sad  strain  streamed  from  the  organ.  It  was  new  to  me,  and, 
though  in  a  minor  key,  was  exquisitely  beautiful,  and  plain 
ly  the  work  of  a  master-hand.  The  choir  and  many  of  the 
people  stopped  to  listen.  It  was  wonderfully  well  per 
formed.  The  organist  seemed  to  have  put  his  whole  soul 
into  his  fingers.  They  may  have  thought  it  was  ray  mother's 
death  that  inspired  the  player ;  but  I  knew  better,  —  it  was 
the  parting  so  soon  to  come  that  tinged  the  music. 

"  What  is  he  playing?  "  I  asked  of  some  one  near. 

"  A  tenor  solo  from  '  Messiah.' ' 

"  What  are  the  words  ?  " 

"  '  Behold  and  see  if  there  be  any  sorrow  like  unto  his 
sorrow.' ' 

Soon  the  music  slid  into  a  major  key,  and  he  began  to 
play  something  else.  After  a  little  while  the  people 
dwindled  away,  and  we  two  were  alone  in  the  church. 
Going  up  to  him,  I  placed  my  hand  on  his  arm  and 
said,  "  Good-by,  Frank.  I  am  going  now."  He  never 
answered  a  word,  but  went  on  playing  in  silence.  Thinking 
he  would  soon  stop,  I  stood  there  patiently  for  a  moment 
or  two.  Presently  my  eyes  wandered  to  the  open  book 
from  which  he  was  playing.  It  was  Mendelssohn's  "Elijah," 
and  was  open  at  that  lovely  alto  solo  on  the  two  hundred 
and  sixteenth  page  :  "Oh,  rest  in  the  Lord,  wait  patiently 


THE    SOPRANO.  69 

for  him,  and  he  shall  give  thee  thy  heart's  desire."  I 
understood  him  at  once. 

"  No,  Frank.  It  can  never  be,  you  had  best  not  think 
so." 

Still  he  went  on  playing  in  silence.  Soon  he  was  obliged 
to  turn  the  leaf  of  the  book.  As  quickly  as  he  had  done  so, 
a  new  idea  came  to  me ;  pointing  to  the  next  chorus,  on  the 
two-hundred  and  nineteenth  page,  I  said :  — 

"Play  that,  Frank;  forget  the  other.  Your  heart's  desire 
cannot  be  given  you  ;  therefore  '  endure  '  that  you  may  be 
' saved.'  Play  that  music;  believe  those  words,  —  they  are 
good  and  true  words.  Once  more,  good-by.  Remember 
me,  but  do  not  love  me.  Remember,  too,  that  '  he  that  shall 
endure  unto  the  end  shall  be  saved.'  " 


70  THE   SOPKANO. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"FOB  HIS  IS  THK  SEA  AND  HE  HATH  FASHIONED  IT."  —  MendelSSOhn'8 

Ninety-fifth  Psalm. 

THE  next  morning,  with  my  own  little  trunk  carefully 
packed,  and  in  company  with  my  father,  I  started  in  a  cov 
ered  wagon  for  the  nearest  steamboat  landing  on  the  river. 

The  boat  was  at  the  wharf  when  we  arrived.  Hastily 
checking  my  baggage,  I  hurried  on  board,  and  parted 
from  my  father  in  all  the  bustle  and  confusion  of  the  de 
parture.  I  came  to  the  edge  of  the  deck  next  the  landing, 
while  he  stood  near  me  on  the  pier.  Suddenly  he  and  the 
wharf  seemed  to  be  drawn  away  from  me,  and  I  found  my 
self  alone  and  a  stranger  on  a  crowded  boat,  and  going  to  a 
new  and  strange  place,  to  begin  an  untried  life.  At  first  a 
feeling  of  unutterable  loneliness  and  homesickness  came 
over  me,  and  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  seats  which  sur 
rounded  the  deck,  quite  overcome.  Thinking  this  not  a 
brave  or  good  thing  to  do,  I  attempted  to  arouse  myself,  by 
looking  at  the  passing  scenery.  This  did  not  help  me  much. 
The  graceful  wooded  hills  on  either  bank  kept  gliding  past. 
Every  moment  I  was  drifting  farther  and  farther  from  home. 
Dear  home,  why  did  I  ever  leave  it?  How  I  wished  my 
self  back  again  !  It  was  too  late  for  backward  steps.  I  must 


THE   SOPRANO.  7i 

go  on.  The  boat  was  a  large  one,  and  crowded  with  passen 
gers.  Turning  away  from  the  lonely  hills,  I  amused  myself 
by  studying  the  people  about  me.  The  afternoon  was  mild 
and  pleasant,  and  the  upper  deck  where  I  sat  was  filled  with 
men,  woraen,  and  children,  all  enjoying  the  scenery,  the  mo 
tion,  and  the  fresh  salt  breeze  that  blew  up  the  river  from  the 
sea,  towards  which  we  were  speeding.  Among  the  people  I 
observed  an  old,  one-armed  sailor,  carrying  about  on  his  re 
maining  arm  a  large  basket  full  of  marine  shells, which  he  was 
trying  to  sell  to  the  passengers.  Presently  he  passed  in  front 
of  me,  and  offered  his  stock  in  trade  for  inspection.  I  shook 
my  head  to  signify  that  I  did  not  care  to  purchase ;  then  he 
passed  along  to  my  neighbors, —  a  lady  with  three  little  girls. 

"0  mother,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  children,  "do  buy 
one  of  these  pretty  shells ! " 

"  Not  now,  dear ;    wait  until  father  comes." 

"  I  want  it  now,  mother ;    I  want  to  hear  the  fairy  sing." 

"0  mother,  is  there -a  fairy  in  the  shell?  Do  get 
one.  I  want  to  see  her,"  said  another  child. 

"  In  a  moment  you  shall  have  one  ;  wait,  and  father  will 
soon  be  here." 

Then  the  first  little  girl  spoke.  "  What  a  puss  you  are! 
You  can't  see  the  fairy  that  lives  in  the  shell,  you  can  only 
hear  her  when  she  sings." 

Just  here  a  tall,  fine-looking  gentleman  came  up  and 
joined  the  group  beside  me  ;  the  purchase  was  soon  made, 
and  the  three  children  were  completely  happy  with 


72  THE    SOPRANO.  I 

their  new  toy.  Holding  the  shell  to  their  ears,  they  seemed 
to  listen  with  delight  to  the  sound  that  seemed  to  come 
from  its  pearly  lips.  After  a  while  they  became  tired  of 
their  plaything,  and  it  fell  to  the  deck  at  my  feet.  Pick 
ing  it  up,  I  handed  it  to  the  eldest  child,  who  sat  next  me, 
and  said :  — 

"  What  did  the  fairy  say  to  you  ?  " 

"She  didn't  say  anything,  she  only  sings." 

"  Does  she  not  sing  any  words  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  she  only  sings." 

"  Is  it  a  pretty  song  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  put  it  to  your  ear,  and  you'll  hear  it." 

Placing  the  lips  of  the  shell  to  my  ear  I  was  surprised  to 
hear  a  low,  sweet  murmur  as  of  some  far-off  tone.  Taking 
it  away  from  my  ear,  the  sound  ceased ;  replacing  it,  I 
again  heard  the  low,  steady  note.  Wondering  what  caused 
the  sound,  I  said  playfully  to  the  little  girl :  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me  the  fairy's  name  ?  " 

"  IShe  hasn't  got  any  name." 

"  Yes,  she  has,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  "  her  name  is  Re 
verberation." 

"Re — ver — ation!  Oh,  dear,  what  a  dreadful  name!  It 
isn't  pretty,  papa  ;  I  shall  call  her  —  '  Ation  ; '  it's  nicer." 

Finding  the  ice  broken,  I  ventured  to  ask  the  father  of 
the  children  if  there  was  anything  in  the  shell  that  pro 
duced  the  tone.  He  did  not  laugh  at  my  ignorance,  but 
politely  explained  to  me  that  the  hollow  shell  acted  as  a 


THE   SOPRANO.  73 

receiver  and  condenser  of  the  various  sounds  in  the  air 
about  us.  Any  object  of  the  same  shape  would  produce 
the  same  result.  The  waves  of  sound  entered  the  mouth, 
and  striking  the  walls  of  the  shell  were  re-echoed  and  sent 
out  again  in  the  confused  murmur  that  one  hears  on  holding 
it  near  the  ear." 

"  And  if  there  were  no  sounds  in  the  air,  would  the 
shell  be  silent?" 

"Yes,  but  I  doubt  if  that  ever  occurs;  absolute  silence 
is  very  rare." 

"I  have  been  where  it  is  very  still,  sometimes." 

"  Doubtless ;  yet,  if  you  had  placed  the  shell  at  your  ear, 
I  think  it  would  have  spoken  as  it  does  now.  The  shell 
would  catch  up  and  repeat  audibly,  tones  and  sounds  you 
could  not  hear  without  it." 

"  What  sounds  would  it  repeat  in  my  own  room  in  the 
middle  of  the  night  when  everybody  is  asleep  and  the  house 
very  still?" 

11  The  motion  of  the  wind,  or  the  sound  of  your  own 
breathing,  —  sounds  that  perhaps  you  never  heard  in  your 
life." 

"  What  you  say  interests  me  greatly.  May  I  ask  one 
more  question?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"Are  there  any  tones  in  music  that  we  cannot  hear?" 

"  No  doubt  there  are  many  both  above  and  below  the 
scales  of  our  pianos."  » 


74  THE   SOPRANO. 

"How  can  they  know  that?  If  there  are  tones  our 
ears  cannot  take  in,  how  do  we  know  that  they  exist?  " 

"  There  are  several  ways  of  showing  their  existence.  If 
I  had  time  I  would  tell  you  more  about  it." 

"  I  wish  you  had,  for  the  whole  matter  is  something  I  am 
greatly  interested  in." 

"  Are  you  a  musician  ?  " 

"  Not  as  yet.     I  hope  to  be." 

Just  here  the  little  girl  between  us  began  to  be  very 
restless  and  uncomfortable  ;  to  quiet  her,  I  took  her  up  on 
my  lap,  and  in  a  moment  the  tired  little  head  fell  on  my 
shoulder,  and  she  was  fast  asleep.  This  was  a  trifling  act 
of  kindness  on  my  part,  but  by  performing  it  I  laid  the 
foundation  of  my  fortune.  The  parents  of  the  little  one 
at  once  took  me  into  their  hearts.  They  smiled  to  see  how 
the  child  came  to  me,  as  though  she  had  known  and  loved 
me  all  her  life. 

"  Is  she  not  very  heavy,  Miss ?  " 

"Ward,  madam.  My  name  is  Julia  Ward.  No,  she 
is  not  heavy,  and  she  is  sleeping  so  nicely  we'll  let  her  re 
main  ;  besides,  I  want  to  hear  more  about  reverberation,  if 
the  gentleman  is  willing." 

"Willing  enough,  but  I  suppose  the  supper-bell  will 
ring  directly.  Are  you  travelling  alone,  Miss  Ward?  " 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  happy  to  have  you  join  our  pa^ty 
Are  you  going  through?  " 


THE    SOPRANO. 


75 


"Yes,  sir;  I  am  travelling  by  myself  towards  the  city; 
a  stranger  to  the  road  and  destination." 

"Would  I  be  impertinent  if  I  ask  what  object  you  have 
in  going  to  the  city?" 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ;  I  am  in  search  of  teachers  and  schools 
to  aid  me  in  my  profession." 

"  Really,  Miss  Ward,"  said  the  lady.  "  Do  you  intend  to 
study  a  profession  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  ambition  to  study  music  and  become  a 
singer." 

At  this  the  gentleman  and  his  wife  exchanged  a  smile 
and  a  meaning  look.  At  sight  of  this  I  stopped  abruptly, 
not  knowing  what  to  say  next.  All  this  time  the  child  in  my 
lap  slept  as  quietly  as  though  I  had  been  her  mother.  The 
other  two  children  amused  themselves  on  the  deck  before 
us.  Suddenly  the  supper-bell  rang,  and  there  was  a  gen 
eral  movement  among  the  passengers  toward  the  door  of 
the  cabin.  This  being  my  first  experience  on  a  night-boat, 
and  being  quite  alone,  I  sat  where  I  was,  still  holding  the 
sleeping  child.  The  lady  at  once  began  to  gather  her 
shawls  and  things  together  as  if  to  go.  While  so  doing, 
she,  and  the  gentleman  held  a  whispered  consultation  to 
gether.  In  a  moment  or  two  all  was  ready,  and  coming  to 
me  she  held  out  her  hands  as  if  to  take  the  little  one  from 
me. 

"  Come,  Milly,  wake  up,  dear;  supper  is  ready.  -I  hope 
she  has  not  tired  you,  Miss  Ward  ;  now  that  you  have  been 


76  THE   SOPRANO. 

so  kind  and  motherly  to  our  little  Milly,  let  me  return  the 
kindness;  won't  you  join  us  at  our  table  downstairs?" 
At  first  I  hesitated,  —  these  people  were  strangers ;  could 
I  trust  them  ?  Then  I  looked  straight  into  her  eyes ;  they 
were  fair,  open,  honest  eyes. 

"  Thank  you,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  so,  for  I  am 
quite  alone  in  all  this  crowd." 

Then  we  all  went  down  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  saloon, 
and  sat  down  to  a  small  table  by  ourselves.  My  new-found 
friends  were  evidently  people  of  refinement,  and  some  means. 
At  first  I  felt  ill  at  ease,  but  the  gentleman  was  so  polite, 
and  the  lady  so  kind  and  talkative,  that  my  diffidence  soon 
wore  away,  and  I  enjoyed  their  company  and  the  supper 
extremely.  Supper  over,  the  lady  said  it  was  high  time  the 
children  went  to  their  state-room ;  so  she  took  two,  and  I 
followed  with  the  other,  not  wishing  to  be  left  alone  with 
the  father.  When  we  reached  their  state-room  door,  I 
found  it  was  next  my  own.  I  was  delighted  to  discover 
this ;  I  seemed  to  be  near  friends.  I  assisted  her  to  un 
dress  the  little  girls,  and  tuck  them  up  in  their  berths.  The 
two  younger  ones  were  soon  fast  asleep  ;  but  Milly  seemed 
restless,  and  out  of  sorts.  After  a  while  she  fell  asleep. 
Then  my  new  friend  asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  to  join 
her  husband  again.  Not  having  anything  else  to  do,  I 
gladly  accepted  her  invitation.  On  reaching  the  deck  we 
found  it  was  dark ;  a  cool  salt  breeze  was  blowing,  and  we 
seemed  to  be  far  out  on  the  open  sea.  The  stars  were  shin- 


THE   SOPRANO.  77 

ing  brightly ;  two  bright  dots  of  light  gleamed  from  the 
shore  far  behind  us ;  on  every  hand  the  dark  night  and 
darker  water.  We  seemed  to  be  moving  very  fast,  and 
though  it  was  cool,  the  deck  was  crowded  with  passengers, 
seated  in  groups,  quietly  talking  among  themselves,  or  en 
joying  in  silence  the  swift  motion  and  the  lovely  night. 
After  a  short  search  we  found  my  new  friend's  husband 
near  the  bows  of  the  boat,  smoking  a  cigar.  He  procured 
us  seats,  and  we  all  sat  down  facing  the  dark,  open  sea,  to 
wards  which  we  seemed  to  be  rushing.  Behind  us,  the  huge 
boat  rose  deck  above  deck,  twinkling  with  lights ;  before  us, 
the  dark.  Near  by,  stood  a  man  gazing  steadfastly  into  the 
gloom  ahead. 

"  What  is  that  man  doing,  John?  " 

"He  is  the  look-out.  He  is  on  the  watch  for  passing 
vessels." 

"  He  must  have  good  eyes  ;  I  can't  see  anything." 

"  No  better  eyes  than  you  have  ;  yet  he  would  discover  a 
light  long  before  you." 

"Why  so?" 

"  He  has  improved  his  sight  by  practice,  just  as  you  have 
improved  your  hearing  by  a  long  course  of  music." 

This  began  to  interest  me,  so  I  ventured  to  ask  a  que*. 
tion. 

"Do  you  think  our  senses  are  capable  of  improvement 
sir?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 


78  THE    SOPRANO. 

"What,  one's  hearing    and  sense  of  taste  or  touch?" 

"  Certainly  ;  why  not  ?  " 

"I do  not  know  why  aot, — the  idea  is  a  new  one  to 
me." 

"It  is  often  done.  I  once  heard  of  an  organist,  who 
played  in  a  church  where  it  was  the  custom  to  have  a  short 
voluntary  after  the  piayer.  Now,  the  minister  had  a  fash 
ion  of  letting  his  voice  fall  to  a  whisper  at  the  end  of  each 
sentence.  This  was  not  pleasing  to  our  organist ;  for  as 
he  used  to  say,  'I  never  knew  when  the  prayer  was  over,' 
and  consequently  aever  knew  when  to  play.  To  be  sure 
not  to  make  a  mistake,  he  was  obliged  to  listen  very  sharply 
for  the  almost  inaudible  '  Amen.'  The  result  was,  that 
in  time  his  hearing  became  wonderfully  improved,  and  a 
new  world  of  sounds  was  opened  to  him.  Little  sounds 
which  before  he  never  heard  became  distinct,  and  conversa 
tions  between  persons  at  a  short  distance,  that  before  were 
unheard,  became  revealed  to  him.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
put  on  '  soupci-spectacles,'  or  'auricles,'  as  the  doctors 
call  them.  His  sharpened  hearing  was  useful  in  church  ; 
but  elsewhere*  't  sometimes  proved  an  annoyance,  for  he 
heard  many  things  that  were  pleasanter  unheard." 

"  I  understand  you  now,  sir ;  but  pray  tell  me  what  are 
'auricles'?" 

"  Instruments  used  by  persons  hard  of  hearing,  arranged 
to  gather  the  rays  of  sound  and  convey  them  in  a  stream 
into  the  eir." 


SOPRANO.  79 


"Rays  of  sound  !  Does  sound  travel  in  i-aya?  J)ou 
it  move  like  - 

"  Like  what  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  sir.  I  fear  I  am  asking  too  many  questions 
of  a  stranger.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  trouble  you." 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  like  to  talk  about  the  real,  tangible  things 
in  nature." 

"  Never  you.  fear,  Miss  Ward,"  said  the  lady.  "My 
husband  is  quite  a  philosopher,  and  is  delighted  to  find  an 
appreciative  listener  at  any  time." 

"  Don't  say  that,  wife.  I  am  not  a  philosopher.  Only 
a  dabbler  in  science;  nothing  more." 

"If  you  are  a  dabbler,  where  do  you  find  your  pro 
fessors,  sir?" 

"Don't  know." 

"  Go  on,  Miss  Ward.  Pump  him  all  you  can.  H< 
rather  likes  it." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  the  gentleman;  "  we  were  speak 
ing  of  sound,  —  rays  of  sound.  No.  I  made  a  slip  there 
Sound  does  not  exactly  radiate,  and  yet  it  does." 

"  You  are  getting  rather  foggy,  John." 

"  So  I  see.  Well,  sound  can  radiate  from  a  given  point 
in  every  direction,  and  yet  if  has  more  the  character  of  a 
wave  or  a  pulse  than  a  ray." 

"Don't  mystify  the  young  lady,  John.  Tell  her 
plainly  what  sound  really  is  " 

•'Yes,  dear,      Sound  is  simply  an  undulation  or  vibra- 


80  THE   SOPRANO. 

tion  of  the  particles  of  air.  If  one  particle  of  air  is  move*1  it 
moves  the  next,  then  slips  back,  that  one  agitates  the  next, 
tnd  so  on,  until  the  last  one  strikes  against  the  drum  of 
the  ear,  and  the  auditory  nerve  conveys  the  sense  of  the 
motion  to  the  brain,  and  we  call  the  impression  the  brain 
receives,  sound.  Do  you  understand  me?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  but  does  every  particle  of  air  between  us 
and  that  bell  on  the  upper  deck  move  to  and  fro,  and  con 
vey  the  motion  one  from  another  till  we  are  made  aware  of 
it  ?  One  would  think  it  would  take  a  deal  of  time  for  so 
many  motions  to  be  made." 

"  It  does  take  time;  but  you  must  bear  in  mind  that  each 
motion  is  very  rapid.  It  is  estimated  that  sounds,  or,  rather 
the  transmitted  motions,  travel  at  the  rate  of  about  eleven 
hundred  feet  a  second." 

Just  here  the  look-out  man  beside  us  turned  round  and 
shouted:  "  Ship  on  the  'starbud.'  Bearing  free." 

We  turned  round  to  see  whom  he  was  speaking  to; 
but  could  not  discover.  His  call  did  not  seem  to  attract  the 
slightest  attention  from  anybody.  Then  we  all  peered  out 
into  the  dark  to  discover  the  ship  the  sharp-eyed  sailor  had 
seen.  In  this  we  were  unsuccessful.  Black  water  and 
blacker  night  closed  in  all  around  us.  Presently  we  felt  a 
slight  tremor  under  our  feet. 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Tht  V**  has  turned  one  side,  to  avoid  the  vessel  just 
head." 


THE   SOPRANO.  81 

While  he  was  speaking  a  faint  light  glimmered  before  us, 
and  a  huge  ship,  with  every  sail  set,  grew  out  of  the  dark 
ness.  As  we  neared  it,  the  lights  from  the  steamer  streamed 
upon  her,  and  lit  up  each  rope  and  sail  with  a  pale,  sickly 
gleam.  It  seemed  a  phantom  ship  just  emerged  from  some 
undiscovered  sea.  Even  the  face  of  the  man  on  her  deck 
seemed  in  the  strange  light,  the  face  of  a  ghost.  We  all  got 
up  and  stood  by  the  railing,  to  see  the  sight.  The  vessel  was 
evidently  ploughing  her  way  through  the  sea, yet  she  seemed 
to  stand  still,  or  rather,  move  slowly  backward,  as  we 
swept  past  her.  Just  as  our  boat  came  in  line  with  the 
ship,  a  thundering  pulsating  or  beating  sound  broke  upon 
our  ears.  While  we  were  passing  the  ship  the  noise  was 
terrific ;  no  sooner  had  she  slipped  past  us  out  of  sight 
than  the  uproar  died  away,  and  nothing  could  be  heard  save 
the  sharp  hiss  of  the  sea  beneath  the  bows,  or  the  low  rush 
of  the  night  wind.  Curious  to  know  the  cause  of  the 
noise,  I  ventured  to  ask  another  question. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  what  caused  the  great  noise  we 
heard  as  we  passed  the  ship?  " 

"It  was  the  sound  of  the  steamer's  paddles  striking  the 
water." 

"  Are  they  still  making  as  much  noise  ?  " 

"  Doubtless." 

"  Why  do  we  not  hear  it,  then  ?  " 

"  The  wind  created  by  our  motion  through  the  air  throws 
the  sound  behind  us,  towards  the  rear  of  the  boat.  Persons 
6 


82  THE    SOPRANO. 

on  the  lower  deck  at  the  stern  hear  the  noise  all  the  time. 
That  is  one  reason  why  I  always  prefer  to  sit  before,  in 
stead  of  behind,  the  smoke-stack." 

"  But,  sir,  why  did  we  hear  the  sound  so  plainly 
while  passing  the  ship?  " 

"  The  hull,  and  more  especially  the  sails,  of  the  ship 
acted  as  a  reflector,  and  returned  or  re-echoed  the  sound,  so 
that  it  was  made  audible  to  us.  When  the  reflector  was 
removed,  the  wind  rushed  in  and  swept  the  sound  away 
again." 

"  Oh  !  J[  understand  you  now.  The  ship  was  a  sort  of 
sound-mirror." 

"  Precisely." 

"  Come,  John,  it  is  getting  chilly,  we  ought  to  retire. 
Shall  we  not  escort  you  to  your  state-room,  Miss  Ward?  " 

"  Thank  you ;  you  are  very  kind.  I  suppose  I  ought  to 
go  to  bed  early,  as  I  have  a  strange  and  hard  day  before  me 
to-morrow." 

You  may  think  I  was  extravagant  to  have  a  state-room ;  I 
might  have  taken  a  berth,  and  saved  the  expense ;  my  pride 
led  mo  to  do  as  I  did.  Pride  is  a  poor  investment  at  most 
times,  but  on  this  occasion  my  extravagance  proved  a  good 
thing.  It  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  show  a  little  kindness 
to  my  new  acquaintances.  It  happened  in  this  wise  :  Soon 
after  I  had  entered  my  state-room  I  beard  a  gentle  knock. 
On  opening  the  door,  I  found  my  lady-friend,  with  two  of 


THE   SOPRANO.  83 

the  little  girls  in  their  night-dresses.  The  great  sa 
loon  of  the  steamer  was  nearly  empty  and  but  diml} 
lighted. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  I,  somewhat  alarmed  at 
their  appearance. 

"  Nothing  very  serious,  as  yet.  Little  Millie  has  been 
taken  sick.  My  husband  has  gone  for  the  boat  surgeon, 
and  as  our  state-room  is  small  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  be 
so  kind  as  to  take  these  little  ones  in  with  you  for  the 
night." 

"Take  them!  with  all  my  heart.  Is  there  anything 
else  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"No,  thank  you.  To  know  that  these  are  safe  is  such 
a  relief  that  I  can  hardly  thank  you  enough." 

"Never  mind  the  thanks,  madam.  Come,  children,  come 
in  here.  I've  a  nice  warm  room  and  a  snug  little  bed  for 
you  both." 

This  was  but  a  trifling  thing  to  do,  and  doubtless  I  should 
have  forgotten  it  the  next  day.  My  new  friends  never  for 
got  it.  The  next  day  we  reached  our  destination.  As  we 
drew  up  to  the  wharf  the  father  of  the  children  came  tc 
me,  and,  giving  me  his  card,  thanked  me  both  for  himself 
and  wife  for  my  kindness.  I  did  not  see  where  the  kind 
ness  came  in,  and  said  if  there  was  any  they  were  wel 
come. 

"You  must  call  and  see  us,  Miss  Ward,  when  you  get 
settled." 


84  THE   SOPRANO. 

11  Thank  you,  sir,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  do  so." 
Thinking  his  words  a  mere  empty  compliment,  I  replied 
as  emptily.     I  wish  I  had  not. 


THE   SOPRANO  85 


CHAPTER   VH. 

"BE   NOT    AFRAID."  —  Elijah. 

ON  my  arrival  at  my  aunt's  I  found  myself  introduced 
to  a  new  atmosphere.  When  nature  made  my  aunt,  Miss 
Susan  Scratchfield,  there  must  have  been  an  open  vial  of 
vinegar  standing  near.  Somehow  it  became  mixed  in  her 
substance,  and  never  got  washed  out.  I  am  certain  of  one 
thing,  whenever  any  of  the  sweet  milk  of  human  kindness 
came  near  her,  it  was  sure  to  curdle.  She  was  a  tall,  spare 
woman,  past  forty,  and  much  given  to  attending  "  meetings." 
As  for  music,  she  never  could  discover  its  use  in  this  dying 
world.  "  We  are  but  sinful  worms,"  she  used  to  say ;  "  we 
should  not  waste  our  time  with  such  vanities  as  music,  or 
the  like." 

Her  presence  and  surroundings  were  so  different  from  my 
own  home,  that,  as  I  said,  I  found  myself  in  a  new  and  un 
congenial  atmosphere.  She  received  me  into  her  lonely  house, 
and  treated  me  with  all  the  respect  due  a  sister's  daughter, 
and  nothing  more.  The  house  itself  was  a  simple  two-story 
affair,  in  a  back  street,  not  far  from  the  outer  limits  of  the 
city.  Not  a  convenient  place  for  me,  being  far  from  the 
central  portion  of  the  town  where  I  should  be  obliged  to  go 
for  my  instructions. 


86  THE    SOPRANO. 

Now  let  me  tell  you  of -"my  schools  and  school-masters.'' 
Being  almost  without  friends  in  the  city  I  had  to  trust  to 
advertisements  of  music-teachers.  I  had  no  letters  to  any 
one.  Their  importance  never  entered  my  head  until  1 
found  how  sorely  I  needed  them.  My  first  day  in  the  city 
was  spent  with  my  aunt  in  making  myself  acquainted  with 
my  new  home  and  its  surroundings.  Bright  and  early  the 
next  day  I  sallied  forth  in  search  of  instructors.  Guessing 
that  my  new  life  would  be  a  costly  one,  I  resolved  to  econo 
mize  in  every  direction.  I  would  avoid  the  horse-cars, 
abandon  all  amusement,  and  reduce  the  cost  of  my  wardrobe 
to  the  last  cent.  I  found  need  enough  for  all  my  available 
funds  speedily.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  buy  a  paper, 
and  to  search  for  music-teachers'  cards  as  I  walked  along 
down  town.  I  found  several,  and  taking  one  that  seemed 
least  pretentious  and  the  cheapest,  I  called  upon  him.  He 
was  an  Italian,  by  name  Signor  Trombole,  a  little,  withered- 
up  man,  of  about  sixty  years  of  age,  and  possessed  of  but 
a  small  stock  of  English.  I  did  not  like  the  man  at  first 
sight,  and  merely  called  to  ask  his  terms.  On  calling  on 
several  others,  both  men  and  women,  I  found  them  all  to 
be  very  much  alike.  Finally  I  selected  the  Signor  for  my 
first  instructor.  His  term*"  completely  frightened  me, — 
sixty  dollars'for  twenty-foui  lessons.  A  great  price.  In 
my  simplicity,  I  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  the  price 
was  so  high  the  instruction  must  be  very  valuable.  No 
doubt  I  should  learn  the  faster,  and  become  a  finished  singer 


THE    SOPRANO.  87 

all  the  sooner.  Sixty  dollars  !  and  to  be  paid  in  advance. 
Not  without  a  pang,  to  see  the  remnant  of  my  father's 
property  slip  away  so  easily,  I  paid  the  bill,  and  took  my 
first  lesson  that  morning.  It  was  a  simple  affair,  merely 
an  exercise  in  scales.  When  it  was  over,  I  went  down 
among  the  newspaper  offices,  and  advertised  for  a  situation 
in  some  choir.  On  my  way  back  I  stopped  at  a  music- 
Btore,  and  hired  a  piano  for  use  in  my  own  room.  Again  I 
was  surprised  at  the  high  cost  of  everything.  Thirty  dol 
lars  a  quarter  for  a  second-hand  piano,  and  to  be  paid  in 
advance.  I  did  so,  though  I  could  not  help  thinking  they 
used  me  rather  severely.  After  a  weary  walk  I  reached 
my  aunt's,  tired,  a  little  disappointed,  but  still  hopeful. 
At  noon  the  piano  arrived,  and  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over  I 
sat  down  to  practise  my  first  lesson.  This  was  a  foolish 
thing  to  do.  One  should  never  sing  within  sixty  minutes 
after  a  full  meal ;  however,  I  did  not  know  this  at  the  time. 
Precious  little  did  I  know  any  way.  I  thought  I  knew  a 
good  deal,  being  wise  in  my  own  conceit.  Well,  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  I  took  a  whole  quarter  of  Signor  Trom- 
bole,  but  at  the  end  did  not  find  myself  so  very  much  bet 
ter  off.  I  did  not  get  ahead  as  fast  as  I  had  hoped  or 
expected.  Then,  too,  I  did  not  find  it  so  very  easy  to  get 
a  situation  in  a  choir.  It  was  not  until  I  had  nearly  fin 
ished  my  first  quarter  that  I  obtained  a  place  in  a  chorus 
choir,  on  very  small  pay  Small  as  it  was,  only  a  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  I  took  it  thankfully,  thrre  being  no  prospect 


88  THE   SOPRANO. 

of  anything  better.  When  I  finished  the  quarter,  the  Sig- 
nor  wanted  more  pay.  He  was  getting  fashionable ;  wealthy 
girls  would  and  did  pay  him  a  great  deal  more.  He  be 
came  quite  the  rage  in  the  city,  and  though  some  one  in  the 
papers  pricked  him  with  a  pin,  and  he  collapsed  like  the 
empty  gas-bag  he  was,  yet  I  still  desired  to  continue  under 
his  instruction.  Did  he  not  come  from  the  land  of  song? 
Did  not  the  fashionable  world  smile  upon  him  ?  Surely  he 
was  a  very  great  man ;  I  must  keep  him  for  a  teacher  if 
possible.  Would  it  be  possible  ?  The  expense  became  so 
great,  •  and  my  efforts  to  obtain  a  few  scholars  were  so  fruit 
less,  that  I  began  to  be  in  despair,  and  to  doubt  my  ability  to 
continue  with  him.  Oh,  how  I  wished  Frank  was  near, 
or  that  I  could  go  to  him  for  aid  and  guidance !  How 
ever,  that  was  never  to  be,  and  I  might  as  well  fight  it  out 
alone. 

As  for  my  medical  education,  as  I  called  it,  that  seemed 
something  I  never  could  obtain.  I  did  not  wish  to  become 
a  physician,  or  to  compete  with  the  young  men  of  the  med 
ical  school.  I  merely  wished  to  obtain  an  accurate  knowl 
edge  of  the  structure  of  my  own  throat.  Yet  this  was  de 
nied  me.  I  applied  to  the  professors  of  the  local  medical 
school,  but,  though  they  were  kindly  disposed,  could  do 
nothing  for  me.  Education  was  for  men ;  women  did  not 
need  it,  and  could  go  without.  One  thought  I  had  better 
read  for  myself.  When  I  asked  what  I  should  read,  he  did 
not  know.  It  required  so  much  technical  knowledge  to 


THE    SOPRANO.  89 

even  read  tlie  books,  that  without  the  aid  of  a  teacher  I 
could  make  but  little  progress.  I  had  better  give  up  the 
idea,  and  do  as  the  rest  of  the  singers  did.  This  I  would 
not  do.  If  I  intended  to  study  music,  I  would  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things,  and  know  all  there  was  to  be  known. 
Superficial  knowledge  would  not  satisfy  me.  Another  of 
the  professors  thought  my  idea  a  good  one,  but  saw  no  way 
to  carry  it  out,  unless  I  had  a  private  tutor.  The  expense 
settled  that  matter.  As  for  studying  the  science  of  sound, 
that  was  out  of  the  question.  I  spoke  to  the  Signer  about 
it,  but  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled  at  my 
weakness.  Sound  was  sound  to  him.  To  dream  of  inves 
tigating  its  nature,  and  the  laws  that  govern  it,  was  mere 
folly.  All  he  personally  knew  about  sound  would  not  dis 
turb  a  tuning-fork,  much  less  make  it  sing.  Taking  all 
things  together,  my  progress  seemed  very,  very  slow. 

A  short  time  after  this,  the  minister  of  the  church  where 
I  sang  preached  a  sermon  on  trusting  God  in  all  our  troub 
les.  His  remarks  seemed  just  suited  to  my  case,  and  quite 
cheered  me.  After  the  sermon  we  sang  a  chorus  from  Elijah. 
It  was  new  to  me,  but  the  music  and  words  quite  inspired  me. 
After  singing  it,  I  felt  that  I  ought  not  to  despair,  but  to  fight 
it  bravely  out,  trusting  that  Heaven  would  somehow  help 
those  who  help  themselves.  As  I  passed  out  of  church, 
with  the  inspiring  words  and  music  still  ringing  in  my  ears, 
"  Be  not  afraid,  thy  help  is  near,"  I  felt  a  touch  upon  my 


90  THE   SOPRANO. 

arm.     Turning  round,  I  discovered  my  steamboat  acquaint 
ance. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Ward." 

"  Good-morning,  sir.  This  is  a  surprise,  sir.  I  did  not 
expect  to  see  you  here." 

"Nor  I  you.  I  am  glad  to  have  found  you  at  last. 
Why  have  you  not  called  upon  us?  My  wife  has  been 
long  wishing  to  see  you." 

Not  quite  knowing  what  to  say,  I  stammered  out  some 
thing  about  being  very  busy. 

"  Very  busy,  are  you  ?  Glad  to  hear  it.  How  do  you 
get  on  with  your  studies  ?  " 

"  Not  very  fast,  as  yet.  It  is  much  harder  work  than  I 
supposed." 

' c  All  study  that  is  worth  anything  is  hard.  Have  you 
made  much  progress  in  acoustics?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  have  not  taken  the  first  step." 

"  Indeed  !  Tell  me  more  about  it.  Perhaps  I  can  help 
you." 

"  You  could,  indeed,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  trouble  you." 

"  Do  not  fear  that.  Come,  promise  you  will  take  tea 
with  us  to-morrow  evening.  Come  early,  at  six.  Mary 
and  the  children  will  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

1  Thank  you,  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so." 
Good.     Now,  don't  forget,  six  o'clock." 

At  this  I  tried  to  smile ;  it  was  a  failure,  and  he  saw 
it. 


THE    SOPRANO.  91 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  not  prospered  happily  lately. 
Come  and  see  us,  Miss  Ward.  We  will  brighten  you  up 
in  no  time.  Good-by  until  to-morrow." 

Here  was  a  pretty  state  of  things.  I  had  received  an 
invitation  among  strangers,  and  I  did  not  even  know  their 
names,  or  where  they  lived.  When  I  received  th£  gentle 
man's  card  I  had  thrust  it  into  my  pocket  without  once 
looking  at  it.  I  supposed  his  kindness  was  like  that  of 
most  travelling  acquaintances,  —  on  the  surface.  When  I 
reached  home  I  searched  among  my  things,  and  at  last 
found  the  card  :  — 

"JOHN  SHARP,  M.  D. 

49  East-Twentieth  Street.* 

Good  !     He  is  a  doctor.     Perhaps  he  can  help  me  about 
my  studies.      I'll  call  on  them,  and  see  what  sort  of  peopl 
they  really  are. 

Five  o'clock  the  next  afternoon  found  me  at  the  doctor's 
door.  The  servant  who  ushered  me  in  showed  me  a  seat 
in  a  small  side-room,  filled  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  books. 
Books  seemed  to  abound ;  on  the  large  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  piled  up  on  the  floor,  and  filling  every  shelf 
to  bursting.  Two  chairs  and  a  desk  completed  the  furni 
ture.  In  one  corner  stood  a  music-rack,  and  beside  it  a 
violin  case.  These  last  pleased  me.  Evidently  the  good 
man  of  the  house  was  a  musician  and  a  scholar.  Having 


92  THE    SOPRANO. 

inspected  things  to  my  satisfaction,  I  sat  down  to  wait.  As 
no  one  seemed  to  notice  my  arrival,  I  fell  to  looking  at  the 
books.  A  small,  neatly  bound  volume  attracted  my  eye, 
and  I  took  it  up  :  "  The  Voice  in  Singing ;  translated  from 
the  German  of  Emma  Seiler."  What's  this  ?  The  voice 
in  singing  ?  Is  not  this  something  I  am  interested  in  ?  I 
must  read  it.  Opening  it  at  random,  I  read  these  words  :  — 

"  Everything  spiritual,  everything  ideal,  as  soon  as  it  is 
to  be  made  present  to  the  perceptions  of  others,  requires  a 
form  which,  in  its  material  as  well  as  in  its  structure,  may 
be  more  or  less  perfect,  but  it  can  never  otherwise  than  sub 
mit  to  those  eternal  laws  to  which  all  that  lives,  all  that 
comes  within  the  sphere  of  our  perceptions,  is  subject.  To 
discover  and  establish  the  natural  law  which  lies  at  the  basis 
of  all  our  forms  of  art  is  the  office  of  science.  To  fashion 
and  control  these  forms  and  animate  them  with  a  soul  is 
the  task  of  art.  In  singing  the  art  consists  in  tones  beau 
tiful  and  sonorous,  and  fitted  for  the  expression  ^.f  every 
variation  of  feeling.  To  set  forth  the  natural  laws  by 
which  these  tones  are  produced  is  the  business  of  physiology 
and  physics. 

"  Thus  there  is  not  only  an  aesthetical  side  to  the  art  of 
singing,  but  a  physiological  and  a  physical  side  also,  with 
out  an  exact  knowledge,  appreciation,  observance,  and  study 
of  which,  what  is  hurtful  cannot  be  discerned  and  avoided, 
and  no  true  culture  of  art,  and  consequently  no  progress 
in  singing,  is  possible." 


THE   SOPRANO.  93 

Delighted  to  find  so  clear  an  exposition  of  the  very  ideas 
of  vocal  music  Frank  had  instilled  into  me,  I  prepared  to 
devour  more  of  the  book,  when  I  was  made  aware  of  some 
body's  presence. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Ward." 

Looking  up,  I  discovered  the  kindly  face  of  the  doc 
tor. 

"Good-evening,  sir.  Excuse  my  inattention.  I  was 
so  absorbed  in  this  book  that  I  did  not  notice  your  en 
trance." 

"I  do  not  wonder  much.  Madam  Seiler  pleased  me 
greatly  when  I  first  met  the  book.  Have  you  never  read 
it?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Indeed.  Take  my  copy  home  with  you.  It  may  give 
you  a  few  new  ideas  about  singing.  That  is,  in- a  general 
way.  It  is  a  bright  book,  though  not  quite  correct  in 
every  point." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Now,  before  we  go  further,  let  me 
ask  you  one  question.  I  may  seem  forward,  but  I  would 
like  to  know  if  you  are  a  musician." 

The  only  reply  I  got  to  this  was  the  opening  of  the 
violin  case,  and  the  taking  out  of  the  instrument.  Bend 
ing  over  the  violin  as  if  he  loved  it,  he  brought  the  strings 
into  tune  and  began  to  play.  At  first,  the  music  stole 
from  the  strings  as  if  it  dared  but  to  breathe;  growing  bold 
er,  it  swept  higher  and  clearer,  and  soon  broke  out  into 


94  THE   SOPRANO. 

loud,  exultant  strain.  Before  I  knew  what  I  was  doing,  I 
found  myself  putting  the  words  to  the  music  and  joining 
the  violin  with  heart  and  voice.  ' '  Be  not  afraid,  saith 
God  the  Lord.  Be  not  afraid,  thy  help  is  near." 


THE   SOPEANO.  95 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"BLESSED  ARE  THE  MEX  WHO  FEAR   HEM."  —  Elijah. 

SUDDENLY,  in  the  midst  of  our  music,  I  felt  my  twohanch 
seized,  and  a  warm  kiss  imprinted  on  my  lips.  Looking 
up,  I  found  the  face  of  the  doctor's  wife  before  me,  radiant 
with  a  cheerful  welcome. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  have  come  !  THe  children  will  be  af 
delighted  to  see  you  as  I  am." 

"  Now,  Mary,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  down  his  in 
strument,  "you  have  spoiled  all  our  fun.  Besides,  I  wanted 
to  hear  Miss  Ward  sing.  She  has  the  remains  of  a  fine  voice." 

"What  are  you  saying,  John?  How  can  you  be  so 
rude !  " 

"I  may  be  rude,  but  I  am  not  unkind." 

As  for  me,  I  said  nothing.     What  could  I  say  ? 

"  I  say  it  in  all  friendliness;  she  has  the  remains  of  a 
fine  voice.  Some  one  ought  to  tell  her  before  it  is  com 
pletely  ruined." 

"Don't,  John!  You  are  carrying  your  incorrigible 
bluntness  altogether  too  far." 

"  I  hope  not.  Miss  Ward  will  forgive  me  if  I  do.  WilJ 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  what  you  say  is  true.      If  I  have  unwifr 


96  THE   SOPRANO. 

tingly  injured  my  voice,  I  shall  thank  you,  or  any  one  else, 
who  will  tell  me." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  doctor  thinks  what  he  is  saying  is  the 
'help'  that  is  'near.'  " 

" I  do  not  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  I.  "If  what  he  says 
of  my  voice  is  true,  it  is  a  help,  though  bitter  to  the 
taste." 

"It  is  not  every  pill  that  is  sugar-coated." 

"Never  mind  the  pills  now,  John.  Supper  is  ready. 
Won't  you  walk  down  to  tea  with  us.  Miss  Ward  ? "  S<v 
saying,  she  drew  my  arm  in  hers,  and  led  the  way  to  the 
dining-room. 

As  we  passed  through  the  entry  she  whispered  to  me, 
"Do  not  be  offended  at  my  husband.  He  is  a  superior 
musician,  and  a  man  of  great  scientific  attainments.  He  is 
a  kind  and  a  good  man.  Whatever  he  may  say  fc>  you  will 
be  said  sincerely,  kindly,  and  truthfully.  Music  is  his 
hobby,  and  if  you  can  get  him  to  help  you  about  your 
studies  you  will  be  very  fortunate.  So  don't  take  to  heart 
his  seeming  rudeness." 

At  the  table  I  met  the  children.  They  seemed  delighted 
to  see  me,  and  vied  with  their  parents  to  make  my  visit  a 
pleasant  one.  Tea  over,  we  adjourned  to  the  parlor.  As  we 
entered  the  room  I  discovered  a  magnificent  grand  piano  in 
the  corner.  Thereupon  I  congratulated  myself.  Now  I  am 
among  musical  people  and  in  a  congenial  atmosphere. 

"  After  we  have  rested  ourselves,  we  must  have  a  little 


THE    SOPRANO.  97 

music.     Shall  we  not,  Miss  Ward?  "  said  the  doctor,  plac 
ing  a  chair  for  me  by  the  fire. 

"I  hope  so,  sir.  I  want  to  hear  more  of  your  vio 
lin." 

' '  So  you  shall,  Mary  and  I  will  play  some  piano  and 
violin  duets,  the  children  shall  sing,  and  perhaps  you 
will  favor  us  with  a  song." 

"  Me  !  Oh,  no,  sir ;  I  have  no  songs  to  sing." 

11 0  Miss  Ward,  I  am  sure  you  will  sing  something 
for  us,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp.  "You  must  not  mind  what 
the  doctor  said  about  your  voice.  We  have  never  fairly 
heard  you  sing  as  yet." 

"  But  I  brought  no  music  with  me." 

"Never  mind ;  an  exercise,  or  any  simple  thing,  will  please 
the  doctor.  He  likes  simplicity  in  all  things." 

"  Now,  while  we  are  resting,  you  must  tell  us  what  you 
have  been  doing  since  we1  left  you  at  the  steamboat-land- 
ing." 

Nothing  loath,  I  related  all  my  experience  since  that 
time.  They  listened  in  profound  silence.  When  I  had 
finished  they  had  not  a  word  to  say.  After  a  short,  but  very 
awkward  pause,  Mrs.  Sharp  said,  slowly,  "  Oh,  I  am  so 
sorry !  " 

"  Sorry  for  what  ?  "  said  I,  becoming  alarmed. 

"  Sorry  that  we  lost  you.  We  might  have  saved  you  a 
world  of  trouble,  and  one  serious  mistake." 

5Tes,"    said   the  doctor;  "you    have  gone    fearfully 


98  THE   SOPRANO. 

astray  in  your  studies.     Well,  it  can't  be  helped  now  •    Ai- 
we  can  do  is  to  begin  again  and  start  fair." 

Surprised  and  perplexed,  I  remained  utterly  dumb  be^ 
fore  them. 

Mrs.  Sharp  perceived  my  embarrassment,  and,  drawing 
her  chair  close  to  mine,  said  kindly:  — 

"  Have  you  no  friends  in  the  city  ?  " 

"  None,  save  my  aunt.  She  herself  is  not  interested  in 
music." 

"  Was  there  no  one  to  tell  you  where  to  find  a  teacher, 
and  to  guide  your  studies  ?  " 

"  No  one.     I  believe  I  am  utterly  friendless.'*' 

"That's  not  true,"  said  the  doctor,  suddenly.  "We'll 
be  your  friends." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  wish  you  would,  for  really  I  need 
friends  sorely.  I  feel  I  am  not  getting  on,  and  I  have  no 
one  to  talk  to  about  music,  —  arid  it  costs  so  much,  and  I 
cannct-  -  cannot  —  Oh.  dear,  it's  terrible  hard  work  !  — all 
aaone  —  vu  "Sfiis  Teat  citv  —  and  —  and  —  " 

J 

I  felt  the  sears  coming.  I  tried  to  restrain  them,  but 
could  not.  The  next  thing  I  knew  Mrs.  Sharp's  arm  was 
around  me,  and  I  felt  her  cheek  close  to  mine. 

"  You  poor  dear!  You  have  had  a  hard  time,  but  we'll 
help  you.  Don't  be  afraid ;  all  will  come  out  right,  and 
you  may  live  to  be  a  fine  singer  yet." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  I,  through  my  tears,  "  but  the  road  is 
so  very,  very  long." 


THE   SOPRANO.  99 

All  this  while  Dr.  Sharp  fidgeted  about  as  if  he  did  not 
quite  know  what  to  do  with  himself.  Suddenly  he  jumped 
up  and  went  out  of  the  room.  Directly  we  heard  his  vio 
lin.  It  was  the  same  brave  air,  "Be  not  afraid." 

'  No,  I'll  not.      You  will  both  help  me,  won't  you  ?  " 
Yes,    indeed.     I  will,  at  any  rate,    and  I'll  ask  the 
doctc.    to  assist.     He  grants  my  every  wish;    so  I  know 
he  will." 

"Thank  you  both,"  said  I;  "and  now  tell  me  what  it 
is  you  are  so  sorry  about.  Wherein  have  I  gone  astray  ?  " 

"I  am  sorry  that  your  teachers  have  never  instructed 
you  in  the  formation  of  your  tones.  You  went  astray  in 
beginning  at  the  wrong  end.  .  You  have  been  taught  to 
read  notes  before  you  knew  how  to  manage  your  own  stom 
ach." 

"  My  stomach  !     What  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Sharp  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say.  Did  you  not  know  that  to  control 
the  breath  in  singing,  the  muscles  of  the  upper  part  of  the 
stomach,  or  diaphragm,  as  the  doctor  calls  it,  are  brought 
into  action  ?  We  do  not  breathe  by  the  action  of  the  chest 
alone,  as  many  suppose,  but  by  movements  of  muscles  just 
below  it.  See  now ;  while  I  sing  a  long  note  watch  the 
action  of  my  hands  as  they  rest  on  my  waist.  So  saying, 
she  stood  up  before  me,  and  straightway  a  low,  soft  note 
came  from  her  lips.  I  watched  her  closely.  The  walls  of 
her  chest  did  not  seem  to  move  much,  but  as  the  note  was 
prolonged,  her  finger-tips  sank  inward,  showing  that  the 


100  THE    SOPRANO. 

muscles  contracted  under  them.  It  was  wonderful.  I 
never  heard  such  a  pure,  sweet  note,  and  sustained  to 
such  an  extraordinary  length.  She  ceased,  but.  did  not 
seem  to  be  exhausted  in  the  least. 

"  Now,  you  try.  Choose  an  easy  position,  and  see  how 
long  you  can  keep  up  the  tone." 

I  began  to  sing.     She  stopped  me  at  once. 

"  You  must  not  sit.  Stand  up.  Do  you  not  see  for 
yourself  that  a  sitting  posture  must  necessarily  crowd  the 
stomach  up  into  the  soft  lungs,  and  they  cannot  fully  ex 
pand?" 

Standing  up,  I  began  again.  It  was  no  use,  I  could 
not  sustain  the  note  one-half  the  time,  and  when  I  finished 
I  was  utterly  exhausted. 

"I  think,  Miss  Ward,  you  will  now  admit  that  whoever 
has  been  your  teacher  knew  but  little  about  singing  from  a 
physiological  point  of  view." 

"It  is  painfully  apparent.  There  is  no  need  of  telling 
me  more;  besides,  I  cannot  fail  to  notice  the  difference 
between  your  voice  and  mine.  Yours  is  sweet  and  pure, 
while  mine  seems  harsh  and  miserable." 

"  Not  half  so  sweet  as  yours,  but  more  pure.  False 
teaching  has  nearly  ruined  your  voice.  I  noticed  that, 
when  I  caught  you  singing  with  the  doctor.  He  told  you 
so,  bluntly  enough." 

These  words  made  a  deep  impression  on  me,  and  for  a 
moment  I  was  lost  in  thought. 


THE   SOPRANO.  101 

"  1  am  glad  that  what  I  say  has  made  you  think.  It 
shows  you  are  not  above  being  told  unpleasant  truths." 

Just  here  the  doctor  returned. 

"  Been  trying  to  put  her  on  the  right  road,  wife  ?" 

' '  Yes,  dear,  as  far  I  can.  You  must  aid  me  about  it. 
Perhaps  we  can  find  a  teacher  for  Miss  Ward,  who  will 
take  her  in  hand,  correct  her  faults,  and  purify  her  really 
fine  voice." 

"  Will  it  take  a  long  time?"  said  I. 

"  That  depends  upon  yourself.  At  present  you  do  not 
know  how  to  breathe;  you  produce  many  bad  over-tones, 
and  you  sing  in  your  throat." 

"  Sing  in  my  throat !     Why,  where  shall  I  sing?  " 

"  At  your  mouth.     Just  before  your  teeth." 

"  Really,  sir,  all  this  is  new  to  me." 

"  I  am  not  surprised.  Men  have  but  recently  found  the 
true  way  to  teach  singing.  Come,  Mary,  is  it  not  bed 
time  for  the  children?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  was  about  to  go  with  them,  if  Miss  Ward 
will  excuse  me."  So  saying,  she  led  the  children,  who 
had  been  playing  on  the  floor  all  this  while,  away,  leaving 
me  alone  with  the  doctor. 

"  Now,  Miss  Ward,  just  let  me  hear  you  sing  once.  You 
need  not  sing  a  song.  I  will  play  for  you  while  you  sing 
the  scale  slowly,  from  the  bottom  of  your  voice  to  the  top." 

Thereupon  he  led  me  to  the  piano,  and  with  fear  and 
trembling  I  began  to  sing.  Suddenly,  in  the  midst  )f  the 


102  THE    SOPRANO. 

exercise,  the  piayer  stopped  abruptly,  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
walked  rapidly  towards  the  door.  Looking  up,  I  discovered 
a  middle-aged,  pleasant- faced  gentleman  just  entering  the 
room.  Shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  he  welcomed 
him  heartily,  and  then  led  him  up  to  me,  and  introduced 
him  as  Mr.  Hookson.  After  the  usual  exchange  of  com 
pliments,  the  doctor  said  :  — 

"  Will  you  excuse  me  a  moment,  Miss  Ward,  if  I  have  a 
few  words  with  my  friend?  It  is  quite  important." 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

The  two  men  went  over  to  the  fireplace,  and,  standing 
up  before  the  cheerful  blaze,  with  their  backs  to  me,  fel,  to 
talking  earnestly  together.  As  for  me,  I  amused  myself 
with  the  music-books  on  the  piano.  What  they  had  to  say 
did  seem  very  important.  It  required  a  deal  of  discussion, 
at  any  rate.  I  was  beginning  to  think  they  never  would 
get  through,  when  Mrs.  Sharp  returned. 

"  Why,  doctor,  how  careless  of  you  !  You  have  left  Misa 
Ward  to  her  own  devices." 

"  I  know  it,  dear.  We'll  be  through  in^a  second  or  two. 
By  the  way,  Mary,  come  here  a  moment;  I've  something  to 
tell  you." 

Then  they  all  three  put  their  heads  together,  and  the 
whispered  conversation  became  still  more  earnest,  and  threat 
ened  to  become  prolonged  to  an  alarming  extent.  Just  as  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  uncomfortable  at  the  delay,  they  all 
three  turned  round  and  came  towards  me,  looking  very  smil- 


THE    SOPRANO.  103 

ing  and  happy.  Wondering  what  would  happen  next,  I 
Waited  for  some  one  to  speak. 

"You  may  think  our  actions  very  queer,  Miss  Ward; 
but  I  hope  you  will  excuse  us.  You  will,  when  you  come  to 
hear  our  plan." 

"  I  shall  excuse  you  before  I  hear  anything." 

"  Now,  John,"  said  Mr*.  Sharp,  "  you  begin." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I'll  begin  by  asking  Miss  Ward  a  question. 
Bid  you  not  sing  in  a  small  country  choir  at  one  time,  in 
a  little  village  on  the  banks  of  the  Sunpasquag  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  told  you  so.  I  knew  it  was  the  same  voice,"  said 
Mr.  Hookson. 

"  Where  did  you  ever  hear  me  sing  before,  sir,  and 
when?" 

"  At  Rockford,  last  summer.  You  sang  that  old  hymn 
beginning,  '  Almighty  Father,  I  am  weak.'  You  sang 
with  great  feeling,  Miss  Ward." 

"Did  I,  sir?  It  must  have  been  because  I  did  feel 
weak." 

"  The  doctor  tells  me  you  wish  to  become  a  singer.  Is 
that  so?" 

"  It  is,  sir." 

"  May  I  ask  who  your  teacher  is?  " 

«'  Signor  Trombcle." 

*  Oh,   Lordy !       Excuse,   Miss  Ward,  my  exclamation , 


1(54  THE   SOPRANO. 

but  the  Signer's  such  an  arrant  humbug  that  I  can't  speak 
of  him  with  patience." 

"Now,  Miss  Ward,"  said  the  doctor,  "we  have  a  little 
plan  for  you.  Listen.  We  want  to  help  you  a  grain.  My 
friend  Hookson  is  going  to  instruct  you  in  the  science  of 
sound.  I  am  going  to  do  the  heavy  physiological,  and 
Mary,  to-morrow,  is  to  find  you  a  new  and  better  teacher." 

Utterly  amazed  and  stupefied  at  his  speech,  I  said  not  a 
word. 

"Charles,  here,  will  show  you  some  pretty  wonderful 
things  about  sound.  lie  is  an  organ-builder  by  profes 
sion." 

"  No  more  strange  things  than  the  doctor  can  show 
you  when  he  gets  out  his  laryngoscope.  You'll  find  that 
the  human  throat  is  something  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made.  You  will  soon  learn  one  lesson  if  you  study  any 
part  of  the  human  frame." 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

"  All  things  in  nature  are  wonderfully  well  made,  and 
ahow  a  master-mind  in  their  creation." 

"  I  hope  the  study  of  nature,  in  whatever  form,  will  teach 
me  to  admire  and  love  the  Creator  himself." 

No  one,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,   "can  long  study  any  nat 
ural  science  without  doing  that" 


THE   SOI  RANG.  105 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"HOW  LOVELY  ARE  THE  MESSENGERS."  —  St.  Paul. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  the  next  morning,  I  sat 
jfo^rn  by  my  aunt's  front  window  to  watch  for  Mrs.  Sharp. 
She  had  promised  to  call  early  and  take  me  to  see  a  new 
music- teacher.  My  aunt,  seeing  me  thus  idle,  took  me  to 
task. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  your  lesson,  or  attend  to  your 
practice  ?  If  you  really  intend  to  study  music,  you  had 
be;tor  keep  on  and  have  it  done  w.th.  I  hate  idleness." 

"  I  am  only  idle  because  I  am  ft  reed  to  be.  I  am  wait- 
ii.g  for  a  friend  to  call." 

'  A  friend  !     I  did  not  know  you  had  any." 

;'T  have  several  very  good  ones." 

"  No  gentleman  friends,  I  hope." 

"  "A  have  one  at  least ;  and  a  good  friend  he  is." 

"  Indeed  !     And  who  may  he  be?  " 

"His  name  is  Dr.  Sharp." 

"  Dr.   Sharp.       Now,   M:ss  Ward,   this   cannot  go  OD 
You  must  give  him  up  at  once.     I  cannot  allow  my  sister's 
daughter  to  throw  herself  away  on  some  poor  doctor.'^ 

"  Throw  myself  away,  aunt  !     What  do  you  mean?  " 

"Did  you  not  say  he  was  a  particular  f-iend?  " 


106  THE   SOPRANO. 

I  said  he  was  a  good  friend,  and  so  he  is.  He  has 
been  very  kind  to  me.  1  would  do  anything  to  please 
him." 

"  It's  all  the  same.  Deary  me,  that  I  should  live  to  see 
such  sad  doings  !  He  is  doubtless  a  designing  villain  —  a 
wretch." 

"  You  shall  not  say  that,  aunt.     It  is  not —  " 

Just  here  the  door-bell  rang.  My  aunt  started  up  sud 
denly,  and,  bidding  me  go  to  my  room,  went  to  open  the 
front  door.  Guessing  who  had  arrived,  I  glanced  out  of 
the  window,  and  saw  a  carriage  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Dr. 
Sharp  just  alighting  therefrom ;  so  I  remained  where  I  was, 
though  I  knew  my  aunt  would  frown.  Soon  she  marched 
majestically  into  the  room,  leading  Mrs.  Sharp  after  her. 
The  frown  had  given  place  to  a  look  of  mingled  curiosity, 
wonder,  and  pride.  People  did  not  often  call  in  their  own 
carriages  in  our  street. 

"Good-morning,  Miss  Ward,"  said  our  visitor,  cordially 
extending  her  hand.  ''Are  you  all  ready?  I  have  come  in 
the  carriage.  We  will  drive  over  and  see  your  new  teacher 
is  soon  -is  you  are  ready." 

Meanwhile  my  aunt  had  stood  like  one  petrified. 

"  Mrs.  Sharp,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  aunt,  Miss 
Scratchfield.  Aunt,  this  is  Mrs.  Sharp,  the  wife  of  the 
gen%man  of  whom  I  was  speaking." 

*  My  aunt  bowed  graciously,  and  smiled  serenely,  as  if 
she  were  proud  and  happy  to  greet  the  wife  of  a  designing 


* 
THE   SOPRANO.  107 

villain.  Fearing  she  might  become  too  obsequious,  I  has 
tened  upstairs  for  my  things,  and  was  soon  ready.  I  can 
assure  you  I  was  glad  when  we  were  fairly  off.  being  in 
constant  terror  lest  my  aunt  would  do  something  ridiculous. 
After  a  short  and  pleasant  ride,  we  stopped  before  a  tall 
brict  building  on  a  fashionable  business  street.  Leaving 
the  carnage,  we  entered  a  side  door,  and,  climbing  up  three 
long  flights  of  stairs,  we  stopped  before  a  small  door  having 
a  modest  sign,  —  "  Miss  Sherwin." 

"  Sherwin,"  said  I;  "that's  not  an  Italian  nor  a  Ger 
man  name." 

"Why,  no,  Miss  Sherwin  is  an  American.  You  must 
not  think  that  only  foreigners  can  teach  music." 

"  I  have  thought  so." 

"  You  will  live  to  see  your  mistake.  The  time  will 
come  when  Americans  will  be  considered  a  truly  musical 
people." 

Just  here  the  door  opened,  and  I  beheld  a  young  lady,  of 
plain  yet  attractive  appearance ;  of  medium  size,  with  pu 
ritan  features,  small  lithe  hands,  and  clear  brown  eyes,  that 
indicated  refinement,  intelligence,  and  good  common  sense. 

I  was  at  once  introduced  to  her,  and  we  passed  into  a 
small,  handsomely  furnished  room,  when  the  subject  in  hand 
was  at  once  opened. 

Miss  Sherwin  did  not  manifest  any  surprise  at  my  story. 
I  soon  learned  that  many  of  her  scholars  came  to  her  after 
having  had  their  voices  nearly  ruined  by  vicious  methods. 


• 

10$  1  IE    JOPBANO. 

[t  was  the  a » me  :>ld  stoi  y,  learning  to  read  music  beforb 
tnowing  how  to  \  roduce  a.  single  pure  note. 

After  a  few  preliminaries,  Mrs.  Sharp  took  her  depart- 
nre,  leaving  ine  alone  with  my  new  music-teacher.  No 
sooner  had  she  gone,  than  Miss  Sherwin  called  me  to  the 
piano,  and  bade  me  sing  through  the  limits  of  my  voice. 

Whtn  I  had  done  so,  she  ssemed  lost  in  thought.  Pres 
ently  she  said,  quickly :  — 

"  Ar3  you  afraid  of  work?  " 

"No." 

"Are  you  at  all  sensitive?" 

"I  hope  not." 

"  Will  you  mind  if  I  tell  you  some  unpleasant  truths  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     I  am  not  afraid  of  the  truth  at  any  time." 

"  Good.  In  the  first  place,  your  voice  is  a  good  one, 
but  very  much  injured,  —  more  than  you  know.  Secondly, 
it  will  reqi  ire  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  to  reform  it,  and 
will  requiro  months  of  time.  You  are  not  hurt  at  my 
frankness?" 

"  Nov.  in  u,he  least." 

"  Then  th?  battle  is  half  won.  Now  let  me  tell  you  a 
8t»ry.  Lou,*  time  ago,  when  I  was  ji  young  girl,  I  was 
once  witit  my  father,  making  a  call  upon  one  of  the  great 
est  of  singers,  Madame  Smtag.  She  ^las  singing  in  opera 
in  this  city  at  the  time,  and  my  father's  position  in  the 
press  brought  him  in  contact  with  her.  All  I  can  remem- 


THE   SOPRANO.  109 

her  of  the  interview  is  one  sentence.  It  was  in  reply  to  a 
question  put  by  my  father.  Said  he  :  — 

"  '  Can  you  tell  me,  madame,  why  it  is  there  are  so  few 
really  great  singers  ?  ' 

"  Madame  Sontag  replied  :  — 

"  'There  are  three  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  not  every 
one  had  the  requisite  strength  and  sweetness  of  voice.  Sec 
ondly,  of  those  who  had  the  voice,  only  a  portion  had  the 
strength  and  perseverance  to  go  through  with  the  necessary 
study.  Of  those  who  possessed  both,  the  majority  are 
so  pleased  with  a  certain  partial  acquirement  of  the  art, 
that  they  refuse  to  be  taught  more,  thinking  that  they 
know  everything.' ' 

This  was  a  very  good  story,  but  it  frightened  me  terri 
bly.  How  would  it  be  in  my  case  ? 

I  will  not  weary  you  with  the  details  of  my  first  les 
son.  It  consisted  merely  of  instructions  for  the  proper 
control  of  the  breath.  The  sixty  minutes  allotted  me, 
quickly  passed.  Then  we  came  to  the  subject  of  pay  : 
one  hundred  dollars  for  twenty-four  lessons.  I  do  not 
know  what  Miss  Sherwin  thought  of  me,  but  I  simply 
stared  at  her,  and  managed  to  say  that  I  would  call  the 
next  day,  took  my  things,  and  went  out. 

Reaching  my  room,  I  mechanically  laid  one  side  my  hat 
and  shawl,  sat  down  on  the  bed,  and  began  to  think.  What 
was  the  use  of  trying  any  longer  ?  I  never  could  become  a 
singer.  It  would  cost  a  fortune.  Not  only  did  I  not  have 


110  THE   SOPRANO. 

a  fortune,  but  the  little  I  had  was  totally  inadequate  to  my 
educational  expenses.  Music  was  not  for  poor  girls.  I 
might  as  well  call  it  a  failure,  give  it  up,  and  return  to  my 
father.  Heartsick  and  weary,  I  buried  my  face  in  the 
pillow,  and  after  a  while  cried  myself  to  sleep.  I  do  not 
know  how  long  I  lay  there,  but  when  I  opened  my  eyes  I 
found  my  aunt  standing  by  the  bedside,  and  gazing  mourn 
fully  at  me. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  aunt?     Has  anything  happened?  " 
"Just  what  I  was  going  to  ask.     What  makes  you  cry, 
child?" 

"  Nothing,  — that  is,  nothing  in  particular." 
"  Don't  tell  me  that.     People  do  not  cry  for  nothing  in 
particular." 

"  It  is  only  my  music.      I  am  going  to  give  it  up,  and 

return  home." 

"  Just  what  I  expected.  I  told  you  so;  I  knew  you'd 
get  tired  of  it  soon." 

"I  am  not  tired  of  it,"  said  I,  resentfully.  "  I  shall 
never  tire  of  music,  only  I  cannot  reach  it.  It  costs  too 
much.  I  must  give  it  up,  and  return  to  home  life." 

"  Now  you  are  talking  sense.  This  music-lesson  busi 
ness  is  the  most  foolish  thing  I  ever  heard  of.  What  is 
•the  good  of  music  anyway?  I  thing  it  a  sinful  waste  of 
time  and  money." 

"  Indeed,  it  is  not.  Music  is  the  best  gift  the  good  God 
ever  sent  us.  What  would  life  be  without  it  ?  Empty, 


THE    SOPRANO.  Ill 

humdrum,  and  miserable.  It  does  more  good  than  a  thou 
sand  sermons.  I  would  rather  hear  a  good  anthem  than  a 
sermon,  any  day." 

At  this  my  aunt  lifted  her  hands  in  holy  horror.  Shocked 
at  my  worus,  she  prepared  to  leave  the  room,  mentally  shak 
ing  the  dust  from  her  shoes  against  me.  At  the  door  she 
turned  to  have  the  last  word. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  you  have  concluded  to  give  up 
music,  settle  down,  and  be  proper." 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  give  it  up.  When  I  reach  home,  I 
shall  go  into  the  mill,  and  when  I  have  earned  enough, 
shall  return  to  my  studies." 

With  a  pitying  smile  she  opened  the  door  and  went  out. 
Presently  I  heard  a  noise  as  if  some  one  was  stirring  in 
the  attic  overhead. 

"  It  can't  be  she  is  getting  —  " 

The  next  moment  my  door  opened  and  aunt  entered, 
dragging  my  trunk  after  her. 

"Shall  I  help  you  pack  ?" 

"Pack!  Why,  no,  thank  you.  I  do  not  intend  going 
home  to-day.  In  fact,  I  think  I  shall  stay,  if  you  are  will 
ing  to  board  me  longer." 

"Well,  if  ever  I  saw  such  a  girl  before  !  You  haven't 
the  same  mind  two  minutes." 

Without  another  word  she  departed,  trunk  and  all. 

Well,  was  there  evei  such  a  girl?  Doubtful,  very.  Now, 
what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  had  said  I  intended  to  stay,  and  stay 


112  •         THE    SOPRANO. 

I  must,  or  never  hear  the  last  of  it,  from  my  sharp-tongued 
aunt.  A  foolish  pride,  perhaps  ;  yet  if  I  had  gone  home  in 
a  fit  of  despair,  forgetful  of  all  the  friends  I  had  found,  I 
should  have  missed  my  only  chance  of  success.  Soon  after, 
my  aunt's  one  servant  called  me  to  dinner.  Washing  away 
the  tear-stains,  I  went  downstairs,  resolved  to  let  my  aunt 
use  her  tongue  as  she  pleased,  and  not  mind  it.  While 
seated  at  the  table,  the  door-hell  rang,  and  a  lady  visitor  was 
announced  as  desiring  to  see  me.  On  entering  the  parlor,  I 
found  a  nicely  dressed  lady,  a  stranger,  and  having  with 
her  a  little  girl. 

"  Miss  Ward,  I  suppose?  " 

;{ Yes.     Can  I  serve  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  Thank  you.  you  can.  Do  you  give  lessons  in  piano- 
playing?" 

I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  no,  when  it  came  to  me  that 
perhaps  my  ill  fortune  had  reached  its  lowest  ebh,  and  if 
it  had  touched  bottom  I  must  now  rise ;  so  I  replied  frankly, 
that  I  did  not,  having  no  scholars." 

"  Would  you  be  willing  to  take  one  ?  My  little  Hattie 
wishes  to  learn,  and  I  was  recommended  to  call  upon  you. 
She  has  never  taken  any  lessons,  and  is  a  beginner.  Will 
you  take  her  ?  " 

"With  pleasure." 

It  was  soon  arranged  that  I  should  give  the  little  girl 
two  lessons  a  week,  at  her  own  house,  for  fifteen  dollars  a 


THE   SOPRANO.  113 

quarter.     This  over,  they  went  away,  and  I  returned  to  my 

aunt  quite  triumphant. 

"  I  have  got  my  first  scholar,  aunt.      Aren't  you  glad? 

If  I  can  only  get  two  or  three  more,  perhaps  I  can  go  on 

with  my  music." 

"  Humph  !     One  swallow  does  not  make  a  summer." 
"Perhaps  not;  but  if  we  see  the  one  swallow,  we  are  apt 

to  expect  the  summer  soon.     It  may  come  yet." 

Just  here  the  narrative  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  a  servant,  who  announced  supper. 

"  Is  Mr.  Ward  ready  for  tea?  "  said  Julia. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"Tell  him,  please,  we  will  join  him  directly." 

Going  to  the  dressing-table,  we  both  prepared  for  tea. 
I  do  not  propose  to  describe  this  performance,  but  merely 
to  speak  of  a  very  curious  box,  which  I  discovered  on  Ju 
lia's  bureau.  Thinking  it  some  toilet  affair,  I  opened  it 

"Goodness!     Julia,  what  is  this ?"  , 

"What,  dear?" 

"  Why,  this  singular  box,  with  the  queer  little  mirrors 
with  silver  handles." 

"  Oh  !  you  have  found  my  laryngoscope,  have  you.? 
That  was  a  present  from  Dr.  Sharp,  when  I'  had  com 
pleted  my  studies.  He  used  to  try  it  on  his  patients." 

"  Is  it  a  surgical  instrument  ?  " 
8 


114  THE    SOPRANO. 

"  Not  exactly  ;  yet  surgeons  sometimes  use  it.  I'll  tell 
you  about  it  after  supper.  Come,  let's  go." 

Returning  to  the  parlor,  we  found  Mr.  Ward  seated  be 
fore  the  fire,  newspaper  in  hand.  As  soon  as  we  appeared, 
he  laid  it  one  side,  and  rose  to  meet  us. 

"  Sit  still,  pa.  Don't  rise  from  your  comfortable  chair. 
Jane  and  I  will  draw  up  too,  and  we  will  have  a  cosey  sup 
per  before  the  fire.  Take  this  easy-chair,  Jane."  So  saying, 
she  rolled  up  a  splendid  great  chair,  into  which  I  sank,  while 
she  took  another  near  by.  That  was  all  very  nice,  but  how 
we  were  to  eat  supper  was  something  I  did  not  quite  un 
derstand.  The  question  was  solved  directly,  for  a  servant 
entered,  bearing  three  cunning  little  tables,  and  placing  one 
beside  each  of  us  departed  again.  Curious  to  see  what 
would  happen  next,  I  watched  the  door,  and  soon  beheld  two 
servants  enter,  bearing  a  small  table,  which  they  set  down 
behind  us.  Another  brought  in  the  things,  and  soon  a 
charming  little  supper  was  set  on  the  table.  This  done,  they 
departed,  and  a  single  young  girl  remained  to  wait  upon  us, 
placing  on  our  little  tables  the  things  we  each  desired.  Such 
luxury  was  new  to  me.  Surely  Julia  must  be  prospering 
to  indulge  so  lavishly.  Meanwhile  conversation  slid  along 
easily  upon  indifferent  matters.  Julia  chatted  merrily, 
and  Mr.  Ward  was  as  agreeable  as  could  be  desired.  After 
we  had  supped  sufficiently,  the  servants  removed  the  tables, 
and  conversation  became  more  personal  and  interesting. 

"  Julia  has  been  telling  you  her  story,  has  she  not?  " 


THE    SOPRANO  115 

"  Yes,  sir,  she  has.  It  interests  me  wonderfully,  and  I 
want  to  hear  more.  For  my  part  I  do  not  see  h*ow  she 
managed  to  pull  through  such  a  sea  of  difficulties." 

11  It  is  because  she  is  her  mother's  girl.  She  was  a  smart, 
capable  woman,"  said  he,  dreamily  gazing  at  the  fire.  "  You 
will  not  often  see  the  like  of  Julia's  mother,  except  you 
meet  Julia  herself." 

"  Don't  say  that,  pa.  I  do  not  deserve  any  particular 
credit  for  what  I  have  done.  Miss  Sherwin,  Dr.  Sharp 
and  his  wife,  and  Mr.  Hookson,  deserve  all  the  credit.  I 
should  not  have  done  anything  without  them." 

"  How  far  had  she  got  in  her  story,  when  you  came  to 
tea?" 

' '  To  the  ten-cent  dinners,  pa, ' '  said  Julia,  speaking  for  me. 

"Ten-cent  dinners?" 

"  Yes,  didn't  she  tell  you  about  that?  " 

"No." 

"  Well,  let  me  tell  you.  You  know  when  she  first  took 
lessons  of  Miss  Sherwin,  she  had  no  money." 

"Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  pa." 

"  Well,  pretty  near.  As  I  was  saying,  she  hadn't  any 
money,  and,  to  pay  her  way.  she  gave  up  boarding  with  her 
aunt,  though  she  still  lodged  there,  and  took  her  meals  at  a 
restaurant,  to  save  money.  Why,  she  actually  lived  on 
thirty  cents  a  day,  for  whole  days  at  a  time.  She  took  care 
of  her  own  room,  and  nearly  made  herself  sick  by  over-work, 
to  get  money  to  pay  Miss  Sherwin.  And  all  the  time  I  never 


116  THE   SOPRANO. 

knew  it,  though  it  went  on  for  over  nine  months.  All  her 
letters*  to  me  were  full  of  hope  and  good  spirits,  while  she 
nearly  died  with  work,  care,  and  anxiety.  I  believe  she 
would  have  died,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Dr.  Sharp.  He 
found  it  out,  and  made  her  take  some  rest,  live  better,  and 
even  found  her  better  pay,  and  —  and  well,  it's  a  fact,  he 
made  her  fortune  for  her,  God  bless  him  !  " 

"  Amen  to  that,"  said  Julia.  "  God  will  bless  him  and 
riis,  I  am  sure.  And  Miss  Sherwin,  and  Mr.  Hookson  too ; 
if  my  prayers  will  avail  anything,  he  will  bless  them 
truly." 

Soon  after  this,  Mr.  Ward  pleaded  the  infirmities  of  his 
years  and  retired  for  the  night,  leaving  Julia  and  me  sitting 
luxuriously  before  the  blazing  hearth. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  more,  dear?  " 

"  Oh,  do,  please  !  I  want  to  hear  more  about  your  les 
sons,  and  how  you  climbed  up  from  poverty  to  this.  Tell 
me,  too,  of  your  public  life." 

"  And  shall  I  not  weary  you?    Some  of  it  is  very  sad." 

"  Not  at  all.     Go  on,  please." 


THE   SOPRANO.  117 


CHAPTER   X. 

"  THK  MARVELLOUS  WORK   BEHOLD  AMAZED."  —  Creation. 

MY  one  scholar  seemed  to  put  a  new  face  on  affairs, 
and  I  resolved  to  try  once  more.  It  was  worth  trying,  at 
any  rate.  Accordingly,  I  called  upon  Miss  Sherwin,  resolved 
to  frankly  explain  my  circumstances,  and  see  if  it  were  not 
possible  to  arrange  some  method  by  which  I  could  obtain  the 
musical  education  I  desired.  I  found  her  all  ready  to  re 
ceive  me  at  the  appointed  hour.  After  the  usual  greetings, 
she  asked  me  if  I  wished  to  go  on  with  my  studies. 

"  Indeed  I  do,  but  I  am  afraid  I  cannot.  It  is  beyond 
my  means.  One  hundred  dollars  a  quarter  is  more  than  I 
can  command." 

"  How  much  can  you  pay  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  Now  let  me  be  very  frank  and  tell  you 
all.  If  I  could  reduce  my  expenses,  or  get  a  few  scholars, 
I  might  be  able  to  pay  it.  I  am  very  anxious  to  pursue 
my  studies,  and  feel  sure  I  am  on  the  right  road ;  besides, 
God  has  raised  up  for  me  so  many  friends,  and  they  pro 
pose  to  do  so  much  for  me,  that  I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  be 
obliged  to  give  it  up.  I  have  made  many  mistakes,  and 
have  labored  in  vain  for  some  time  ;  yet,  if  I  can  by  any 
possibility  go  on,  I  mean  to.  I  am  not  afraid  of  work  or 


118  THE   SOPRANO. 

loss  of  time.  I  have  already  'learned  to  labor  and  to 
wait.' " 

"  I  can  but  admire  your  frankness.  Let  us  look  further 
into  this  matter ;  perhaps  we  can  bring  some  ray  of  hope  out 
of  it.  You  were  speaking  of  expenses.  May  I  ask  what 
they  are?  " 

"My  board,  clothing,  and  piano.     I  have  no  others." 

" I  suppose  you  hire  your  piano?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  do  you  pay  ?" 

"  Thirty  dollars  a  quarter." 

"  Thirty  dollars  is  a  pretty  large  price,  but  I  suppose 
you  will  pay  for  it  soon,  and  then  that  expense  will  cease." 

"  I  did  not  understand  it  so.     I  only  hire  it." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  not  the  way  to  do.  You  must  make  them 
give  you  a  receipted  bill  of  it  when  it  reaches  the  retail  price. 
Where  did  you  hire  it  ?  " 

"  At  the  Mozart  rooms." 

"  That's  cheerful.  I  know  the  people  there.  I  may  see 
some  of  them  to-day.  You  leave  it  all  to  me.  I'll  ar 
range  it  so  that  in  time  you  will  own  the  piano,  and  so 
stop  that  leak." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Sherwin;  you  are  indeed  kind." 

"You  are  welcome,  I  am  sure.  Now  for  your  other  ex 
penses.  I  cannot  advise  you  in  regard  to  your  board  and 
clothing.  That  is  something  you  alone  must  manage.  I  can 
only  tell  you  that  many  people  find  it  cheaper  to  hire  a 
lodging-room,  and  take  part,  or  the  whole,  of  their  meals  at 


THE   SOPRANO.  119 

a  restaurant,  or  some  similar  place.     You  can  take  the  hint 
for  what  it  is  worth." 

"•  It  is  worth  a  great  deal.  I  never  thought  of  that  be 
fore.  In  fact,  you  must  see  that,  coming  as  I  did  from  a 
quiet  country  home,  I  was  deplorably  ignorant  of  all  these 
things.  The  only  wonder  is,  I  did  not  make  more  mis 
takes." 

"  Every  one  makes  mistakes  ;  the  truly  wise  man  is  not 
ashamed,  but  profits  by  them.  It  is  not  for  me  to  inquire 
•what  your  income  is,  but  please  tell  me  how  many  more 
«*cholars  you  require  to  make  both  ends  meet." 

"  Three  more,"  said  I,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  can  get  them,  if  we  make  an  effort. 
At  any  rate,  you  had  better  try  one  quarter.  I  do  not 
advise  this  because  I  wish  to  obtain  another  scholar,  but 
because  you  seem  to  have  a  love  of  music,  and  display  a  brave 
vid  womanly  spirit.  If  it  will  help  you,  I  will  not  charge 
ever  seventy-five  dollars,  providing  you  take  one  or  more 
lessons  a  week,  and  at  my  rooms." 

"  Thank  you  !  Thank  you  !  I  can  and  will.  You  are 
judeed  a  friend  ,  the  best  I  ever  met." 

"  I  hardly  think  that.  You  have  other  and  better 
friends,  —  the  Sharp*,  for  instance.  Now  let  us  to  work." 

"  Have  I  not  absorbed  all  my  time  already?  "  , 

"Never  mind.  We  will  call  this  merely  a  friendly 
talk." 

Seating  herself  at  the  piano,  she  bid  me  stand  beside  her, 


1'20  THE    SOPKANO. 

and  my  second  lesson  began.  It  was  mainly  practice  in 
governing  the  flow  of  the  breath.  After  a  few  exercises  in 
trying  to  breathe  easily  and  steadily,  Miss  Sherwin  re 
marked  that  my  breathing  seemed  labored. 

"  Do  you  wear  a  tight  dress,  Miss  Ward  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  it  is  a  positive  bar  to  success  as 
a  vocalist?  " 

"  No;  how  can  it  be?  My  belt  may  be  tight,  but  it  is 
too  low  to  compress  my  lungs." 

"  That  is  the  very  reason  it  does  compress  them.  If  it 
passed  round  the  chest  it  would  not  do  half  the  harm.  The 
walls  of  the  chest  are  rigid  and  nearly  immovable.  It  is 
only  when  you  compress  the  soft  viscera  at  the  waist  that 
a  wrong  is  done.  Being  soft  and  pliable,  they  are  easily 
pushed  out  of  place.  Your  tight  belt  is  probably  squeezing 
them  frightfully,  and,  as  they  cannot  escape,  they  protrude 
themselves  upwards  into  the  space  occupied  by  the  lungs. 
The  lungs,  being  soft  and  sponge-like,  yield  readily  to 
the  pressure  from  below,  and  being  cramped  for  room  cannot 
expand  to  their  full  size.  The  effect  upon  your  singing 
must  be  evident.  Suppose,  for  experiment,  you  take  off 
your  belt  and  loosen  your  dress." 

I  did  so,  and  we  returned  to  our  exercises  at  the  piano. 
It  was  a  perfect  revelation.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have  never 
worn  a  tight  dress  from  that  day  to  this.  If  Miss  Sherwin 
had  never  given  me  another  lesson  this  one  bit  of  informa- 


THE   SOPRANO.  121 

tion  would  have  been  very  well  worth  the  cost  of  a  quarter's 
lessons. 

I  am  sorry  L  cannot  give  a  detailed  account  of  my  lessons  ; 
but  time  forbids.  All  I  can  attempt  is  a  sketch  of  the 
general  theory  of  Miss  Sherwin's  method.  As  I  proceed, 
you  will  gather  its  main  features. 

When  the  lesson  was  over,  it  was  arranged  that  I  should 
take  a  lesson  every  day  for  the  first  quarter.  If.  when  it 
was  over,  I  found  I  could  not  meet  the  expense,  I  was  to 
give  it  up  and  return  home.  After  the  lesson  I  walked 
home,  happy  in  my  brightening  prospects.  At  my  aunt's 
I  found  another  lady  waiting  to  arrange  for  one  more  pupil. 
Delighted  to  find  still  further  good  fortune,  I  sat  down  in  my 
room,  got  out  pen  and  paper,  and  made  a  careful  exami 
nation  of  my  finances.  After  spending  an  hour  over  my 
figures,  I  came  to  the  sad  conclusion  that,  with  all  my  im 
proved  prospects,  I  could  not  even  pay  seventy-five  dollars 
a  quarter.  Disappointed  and  discouraged  again,  I  put  on 
my  things  and  went  out  to  walk,  thinking  the  fresh  air 
would  brighten  me  up  and  drive  away  a  headache  that 
I  experienced.  After  walking  about  an  hour  I  passed  a  restau 
rant.  Feeling  hungry,  I  went  in  and  sat  down  at  a  small 
table.  After  studying  the  bill  of  fare  for  some  time,  I 
called  for  a  simple  dinner,  and  in  twenty  minutes  had  made 
Tip  my  mind  what  to  do. 

After  lunch  I  walked  on  towards  Dr.   Sharp's,   resolved 
A  call  there  and  find  out  who  had  sent  me  the  two  scholars. 


122  THE   SOPRANO. 

As  I  passed  along  I  met  Signer  Trombol6,  and  took  the 
opportunity  to  tell  him  that  I  did  not  intend  to  take  the 
one  or  two  remaining  lessons  he  owed  me,  nor  any  more, 
and  so  finished  up  that  matter. 

When  I  reached  Doctor  Sharp's,  I  found  the  blinds  on 
the  doctor's  office- window  closed.  Not  thinking  anything 
about  it,  I  rang  the  bell. 

"Is  Dr.  Sharp  in?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  but  he  is  busy  with  a  patient." 

"  Then  I  will  not  interrupt  him,  but  wait,  if  conven 
ient." 

"  Certainly,  miss.  I  think  he  will  be  at  leisure  in  a 
moment.  Walk  into  the  parlor,  please,  and  take  a  seat." 

"  Thank  you." 

No  sooner  had  the  servant  disappeared,  than  I  heard  the 
doctor's  voice  in  the  hall. 

"Who is  that,  Katie?" 

"  Miss  Ward,  sir." 

"  Just  the  person  I  wish  to  see.  Send  her  in  here, 
please." 

Directly  I  was  called,  and  was  soon  at  the  door  of  the 
office. 

"  Come  right  in,  Miss  Ward.     Do  not  be  afraid." 

I  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  for  the  room  was  pitch-dark. 
The  blinds  and  curtains  were  drawn,  and  to  me,  just  coming 
from  the  light  of  day,  it  seemed  perfectly  dark. 

"  Take  a  seat,  please." 


THE    SOPRANO.  123 

Putting  out  my  hand,  I  felt  for  a  chair,  and  sat  down  in  it. 
The  doctor  then  shut  the  door,  and  there  I  sat,  in  the  dismal 
place. 

' '  You  have  arrived  at  a  very  opportune  moment.  I  was 
just  using  my  laryngoscope  upon  this  gentleman.  He  has 
some  trouble  in  the  throat,  and  I  am  examining  it.  Shall 
be  at  leisure  directly  ;  then  I  will  show  you  the  instrument 
upon  myself." 

By  this  time  my  eyes  had  so  far  become  accustomed  to 
the  darkness  that  I  could  make  out  the  shadowy  forms  of 
the  doctor  and  his  patient.  The  man  was  seated  at  one 
end  of  the  room,  while  the  doctor  was  seated  directly  oppo 
site,  and  facing  him.  Suddenly  the  man's  fafce  was  illu 
mined  by  an  intense  ray  of  white  light.  It  struck  him 
first  in  the  mouth.  When  he  opened  his  lips  it  shone  upon 
his  teeth,  and  they  glittered  like  pearls.  "Wondering  what 
they  would  do  next,  I  watched  them  closely;  but  the 
doctor's  head  came  in  the  way,  and  cut  off  my  view.  All 
was  perfectly  still  in  the  room,  save  the  spasmodic  breath 
ing  of  the  man.  He  seemed  to  be  troubled  for  breath,  or 
as  if  disturbed  by  something  being  thrust  down  his  throat. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  examination  was  over,  and,  after  a 
brief  consultation,  the  man  went  away. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  the  doctor  procured  a  match  and 
lighted  a  gas-jet. 

"Lay  your  things  one  side.     It  is  very  warm  here." 

''  Thank  you,  sir ;  but  am  I  not  detaining  you  ?     I  can- 


124  THE    SOPRANO. 

not  think  of  receiving  any  instruction  from  you,  if  it  in 
any  way  interferes  with  your  business.  You  are  very 
kind—" 

"  Bless  you,  no.  I  do  not  intend  to  let  anything  inter 
fere  with  business.  I  cannot  afford  it.  The  odd  moments 
I  am  going  to  give  to  you  will  be  well  spent ;  so  please 
not  speak  of  it  again,  nor  of  the  kindness,  as  you  call  it. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  help  one  who  seems  so  desirous  of  help 
ing  herself.  Besides,  it  is  good  fun  to  teach  such  a  sensible 
and  appreciative  scholar  as  you.  This  is  all  I  have  to  say 
on  this  point.  If  you  are  grateful,  I  am  glad  of  it,  but 
please  don't  speak  it." 

"  Then  I  shall  think  it." 

"  All  right ;  now  to  business." 

"This,"  said  he,  taking  up  a  small  round  glass  mirror, 
*bout  the  size  of  a  five-cent  piece,  and  having  a  long  silver 
handle  bent  at  an  obtuse  angle,  at  a  point  near  the  mirror, 
:<  is  a  laryngoscope.  A  very  simple  affair,  but  capable  of 
showing  to  us  one  of  the  most  wonderful  things  the  Lord 
ever  made.  In  this  little  mirror  you  can  actually  see  your 
self  sing. 

"  Here  is  another  one.  The  only  difference  between  them 
is  that  the  handle  is  bent  at  a  slightly  sharper  angle,  ena 
bling  us  to  get  more  varied  views  of  the  larynx. 

"  Now  let  us  to  work.  I  will  sit  down  here  behind  this 
argand  burner,  and  do  you  turn  down  the  other  light,  and 
then  draw  your  chair  up,  and  sit  directly  in  front  of  me.' 


THE    SOPRANO.  125 

Accordingly  I  darkened  the  room,  and  sat  down  facing 
and  quite  near  him,  —  so  near  that  I  could  look  right  in  his 
face,  if  it  were  not  for  the  shaded  lamp  between  us.  Though 
the  lamp  was  lighted,  and  thin  tongues  of  flames  streamed 
above  the  tin  shade  that  surrounded  the  glass  chimney,  it 
was  quite  dark,  and  I  could  hardly  see  him  ;  however,  he 
opened  a  slide,  and  let  a  brilliant  ray  of  light  stream  from 
a  magnifying  glass  affixed  to  the  shade,  directly  in  his  face. 
Looking  past  the  lamp,  I  could  see  an  intense  spot  of  white 
light  on  his  lips. 

"What  bright  things  ought  to  come  from  your  mouth, 
sir !  " 

"  If  brightness  does  not  come  from  it,  at  least  my  tongue 
will  be  illuminated.  See  !  " 

And  he  opened  his  mouth  wide,  letting  the  light  pour  into 
it  like  a  flood.  I  could  see  everything,  —  tongue,  teeth,  ana 
red  glistening  throat,  reaching  down  out  of  sight. 

"  Queer  place,  is  it  not?  " 

I  laughed  outright. 

"Why,  you  talk  with  your  tongue,  teeth,  and  lips.  It 
almost  seems  as  if  I  could  see  what  you  said,  even  if  I  had 
not  heard  you." 

"  Not  entirely.  Without  the  larynx  you  would  hear  no 
words  above  a  whisper.  The  larynx  produces  the  tones 
and  the  lips  modify  and  break  it  up  into  what  we  caii 
speech.  See,  now ;  I  will  sing  a  single  note,  and  you  will 
hear  no  words,  and  if  you  are  observing,  you  will  notie* 


126       .  THE   SOPRANO. 

that  the  region  of  the  mouth  is  not  in  action.  1  v't  sing, 
but  not  articulate." 

Then  he  sang  one  pure,  soft  note.  The  wide-apart  rows 
of  teeth  glistened  brightly,  and  the  red  tongue  lay  flat 
oehind  the  lower  teeth,  but  neither  moved'  at  all. 

"  Why,  doctor,  the  tones  seems  to  come  up  out  of  the 
throat,  as  if  it  was  produced  in  some  place  further  down, 
out  of  sight." 

"  Precisely.  It  comes  from  the  larynx.  I  will  show  it 
you  in  a  moment,  when  we  come  to  use  the  laryngoscope ; 
but  before  we  do  so,  let  me  show  you  how  the  tone  that  is 
produced  by  the  larynx  is  modified  by  the  lips,  tongue,  and 
teeth.  I  will  give  you  a  tone,  and  then,  without  altering  it, 
repeat  the  words  '  tongue,'  '  teeth,'  and  '  lips.'  ' 

He  at  once  opened  his  mouth,  and  I  heard  the  steady 
tone,  far  down  his  throat.  Suddenly  the  lips  came  together, 
and  I  heard  the  word  "tongue,"  distinctly.  Then  they 
opened,  and  I  saw  the  white  teeth  nearly  touch  each  other, 
and  the  word  "  teeth  "  was  spoken  very  plainly.  Next  the 
tongue  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  teeth,  and  the  lips  shut 
suddenly,  —  "  lips,"  plain  enough. 

"  A  capital  recitative,  sir.  I  understand  you  perfectly ; 
but  what  strikes  me  as  most  wonderful  is,  that  I  seem  to  see 
the  words  as  well  as  hear  them.  If  you  were  to  make  up 
words  with  your  mouth  and  utter  no  sound,  I  could,  with 
the  aid  of  this  light,  and  by  paying  careful  attention,  under 
stand  almost  everything  you  intend  to  say  " 


THE   SOPRANO.  127 

"Yes;  that  is  something  easily  done.  In  fact,  they  have 
a  method  of  teaching  the  deaf  and  the  dumb  to  converse,  by 
instructing  them  in  the  use  of  the  organs  of  articulation. 
They  cannot  utter  or  hear  a  single  word,  and  yet  they  man 
age  to  talk." 

All  this  time  he  had  held  his  laryngoscope  in  his  hand, 
and  at  this  moment  he  brought  it  up  and  held  the  mirror  over 
the  gas-burner  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  touched  the  back 
of  it  to  his  face. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  raise  it  to  the  same  temperature  as  my  blood. 
I  touch  it  to  my  cheek,  to  see  if  it  is  warm  enough.  If  I 
did  not  warm  it  slightly  it  would  condense  the  moisture  in 
my  breath,  and  become  coated  with  mist,  and  useless  for  a 
reflector.  Now,  when  I  insert  it  into  my  mouth,  follow  the 
mirror  and  observe  what  you  see  in  it." 

"  I  see  a  round,  black  opening ;  it  is  like  looking  down  a 
long,  black  tube." 

Taking  the  instrument  from  his  mouth,  he  said :  — 

"  The  dark  tube  you  see  is  the  trachea.  The  trachea  is 
the  tube  that  conveys  the  air  from  the  lungs  up  into  the 
larynx,  and  from  thence  it  goes  to  the  mouth.  You  will 
also  observe  that  the  upper  part  of  the  tube  ends  abruptly 
in  what  appears  to  be  two  loose  curtains  of  white,  fleshy 
cartilage,  one  on  each  side.  These  cartilages  and  their  sur 
rounding  parts  make  up  the  larynx.  When  I  merely 
breathe,  it  is  wide  open,  and  the  vocal  chords  are  drawn 


128  THE    SOPRANO. 

back  nearly  *ut  of  sight.*  When  I  put  the  instrument  in 
my  mouth  again,  you  can  take  a  good  -look,  and  then  I  will 
sing  one  low  tone ;  but  dividing  it  into  several  notes,  taking 
breath  each  time." 

Leaning  forward,  I  gazed  fcteadily  at  the  little  mirror  lay 
ing  at  the  back  of  the  doctor's  brightly  lighted  throat. 
Again  I  saw  the  reflected  image  of  the  funnel-shaped  open 
ing.  Suddenly  it  was  closed  by  two  white  doors,  or  curtains, 
that  seemed  to  slide  out  from  the  sides  ar.d  come  together  in 
the  middle.  At  once  a  low  note  came  up  the  throat. 
Looking  still  closer,  I  observed  that  the  white  folds,  or  cur 
tains,  did  not  quite  touch,  but  a  narrow  slit  remained  open 
the  entire  visible  width  of  the  tube.  The  fine  edges  of  the 
curtains  seemed  to  be  indistinct.  On  looking  still  closer,  I 
discovered  that  both  edges  were  in  a  state  of  violent  agita 
tion,  yihrating  rapidly,  —  so  fast  indeed,  that  I  could  not  see 
them  very  clearly,  just  as  one  cannot  see  the  spokes  of  a 
wheel  revolving  rapidly.  This  state  of  affairs  only  con 
tinued  for  a  few  seconds,  when  they  as  suddenly  drew  apart 
for  an  instant,  and  then  closed  again,  vibrated  as  before,  and 
the  tone  was  resumed.  This  took  place  several  times  alter 
nately.  It  did  not  take  me  .long  to  see  that  when  this 
seeming  curtain  was  drawn  open,  the  doctor  was  inhaling 
the  air,  or  taking  breath.  Taking  the  instrument  from  hist 
mouth,  he  said:  — 

"  Could  you  see  the  vocal  chords  ?     Did  you  notice  how 


THE    SOPRANO.  129 

they  seemed  to  meet  in  the'  middle,  jet  leaving  a  narrow 
slit  between  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  saw  the  little  white  curtains  close  together. 
Is  that  all  that  produces  the  tone?  " 

"  Simply  that,  and  nothing  more.  In  shape,  they  are 
like  a  thin  fold,  or  curtain,  or  better,  a  membrane,  like  the 
head  of  a  drum.  If  you  should  cut  a  slit  in  the  head  of  a 
drum,  you  would  have  a  very  fair  representation  of  the 
larynx  when  it  is  producing  a  low  note.  Now  when  these 
membranes  or  cartilages  are  drawn  together,  and  air  is 
forced  through  them,  they  at  once  vibrate  of  their  own 
accord,  and  that  sets  the  air  in  motion,  and  at  last  the  waves 
reach  our  ears,  and  we  call  them  a  tone  —  sound.  You 
must  see  that  the  whole  thing  is  simply  a  mechanical  affair. 
All  we  need  to  do  is  to  place  tae  chords  in  position  and 
blow,  and  it  sings.  If  the  larynx  of  a  person  recently  deaf? 
were  cut  out,  and  placed  so  that  a  current  of  air  could  I 
driven  through  it,  it  would  sing,  but  not  pronounce  words, 
as  you  can  readily  understand  from  what  you  have  seen  in 
regard  to  the  action  of  the  teeth  and  lips." 

Just  jere  the  servant  entered,  and  announced  a  visitor. 
Taking  my  things,  I  prepared  to  go.  The  doctor  turned  up 
the  light,  saying,  "  Call  again  soon,  Miss  Ward,  and  we 
will  study  this  thing  more  in  detail." 

As  I  went  out  I  met  Mrs.   Sharp.       She  received  me 
pleasantly,  and  kindly   reminded  me  that  I  might  makr 
myself  at  home  in  their  house,  as  often  as  I  wished. 
9 


130  THE    SOPRANO. 

"  By  the  way,  Mr.  Hookson  was  here  this  morning,  and 
left  word  that  he  Avould  like  to  have  you  call  at  the  factory 
to-morrow  afternoon.  You  must  be  sure  and  go." 

"Shall  I  go  alone?" 

"  Oh.  yes !  Call  at  the  counting-room  without  fear. 
He  will  be  delighted  to  see  you." 

"  0  Mrs.  Sharp,  I  have  one  cheerful  bit  of  news  for  you  : 
I  have  two  scholars.  They  both  said  they  had  been  advised 
to  come  to  me.  Who  could  have  been  so  kind  ?  " 

"  Some  friend,  doubtless,  —  whom,  you  must  not  ask  me, 
as  I  am  not  good  at  guessing." 

"  Then  I  shall  guess  for  myself." 

"Do." 

The  next  morning  I  was  at  Miss  Sherwin's  at  the 
appointed  hour.  In  this  lesson  I  advanced  so  far  as  to 
produce  a  single  tone.  I  was  utterly  astonished  to  find  the 
great  difficulty  I  had  to  encounter  to  do  so  simple  a  thing 
as  this,  and  to  do  it  correctly.  I  had  been  told  to  sing  with 
out  having  the  least  idea  how  I  was  to  go  to  work.  The 
command  had  been  "sing;"  and  I  did,  in*  the  easiest  way 
possible.  As  the  easiest  way  was  not  always  the  best,  I 
had  acquired  a  habit  of  singing,  at  once  false,  impure,  and 
not  according  to  scientific  rules.  Until  I  met  Dr.  Sharp  I 
had  been  totally  ignorant  of  how  my  own  voice  was  pro 
duced,  and,  as  you  can  easily  understand,  had  gone  to  work 
blindly  and  without  method.  Under  Miss  Sherwin  I  had  to 
begin  again  at  the  very  bottom,  and  overthrow  a  host  of  bad 


THE   SOPRANO.  131 

habits,  undo  a  world  of  labor,  and  conquer  a  deal  of  preju 
dice  and  error.  The  entire  first  quarter  was  given  up  to 
correcting  mistakes.  I  used  no  music  or  exercises,  nor  did 
I  practise  at  home.  Miss  Sherwin  would  not  allow  me  to 
sing  for  practice  out  of  her  hearing.  At  first  she  objected 
to  my  retaining  my  position  in  the  church  choir  ;  but  as  this 
was  indispensable,  on  account  of  finance,  I  kept  it,  taking 
care  to  follow  her  instructions  at  all  times,  and  to  sing  as 
little  as  possible  when  away  from  her  side. 

It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  give  you  a  detailed  account 
of  all  my  investigations  with  the  doctor's  laryngoscope.  I* 
is  a  study  requiring  months  of  careful  and  thorough  exam 
ination,  and  involving  very  considerable  reading.  I  do  not, 
even  now,  pretend  to  understand  it  all.  Few  physicians 
have  yet  exhausted  the  subject.  All  I  wish  to  show  is  that 
a  thorough  study  of  the  whole  vocal  region  of  the  human 
body  is  essential  to  the  highest  skill  in  vocal  music.  It  is 
true  there  are  singers  who  have  never  seen  a  larynx,  or  even 
know  they  have  one.  However,  my  own  opinion  is,  that 
only  by  the  careful  study  of  the  vocal  organs  can  the  high 
est  and  best  be  reached  in  the  art  of  singing.  You  must 
not  imagine,  when  I  speak  of  the  doctor's  laryngoscope,  that 
Miss  Sherwin  was  not  able  to  use  one.  She  had  a  very  fine 
one,  which  she  frequently  used  upon  herself  for  the  benefit 
?f  her  scholars.  She  even  taught  me  to  use  it  upon  myself, 
10  that,  with  the  aid  of  another  mirror,  I  could  examine  my 
»wn  larynx  at  my  leisure.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  use 


132  THE    SOPRANO. 

upon  one's  self,  the  mouth  being  so  sensitive.  For  all  that,  I 
can,  and  do,  use  it  occasionally.  The  reason  I  prefer  to 
have  the  doctor  use  his  instrument  is,  that  the  male  larynx 
is  much  larger  than  the  female,  and  therefore  more  easily 
studied.  In  men  the  larynx  is  so  large  that  a  portion  of  its 
surrounding  muscles  are  plainly  visible  on  the  outside  of  the 
throat.  The  visible  part  is  commonly  known  as  the 
"Adam's  Apple." 

My  second  view  of  the  doctor's  larynx  was  even  more 
interesting  than  the  first.  It  was  in  the  evening,  and  hav 
ing  lighted  his  lamp,  and  placed  himself  in  position  before 
it,  he  said :  — 

"Notice  carefully  what  I  do.  I  am  going  to  articulate, 
that  is,  use  the  organs  of  articulation,  the  teeth,  tongue, 
lips,  etc.  ;  but  not  use  my  larynx,  nor  even  breathe." 

Watching  the  bright  spot  of  light  on  his  face,  I  saw  the 
mouth  open  and  close,  and  the  teeth  appear  and  disappear 
successively.  He  was  evidently  making  up  words,  but 
giving  forth  no  speech.  Presently  he  stopped. 

"  Could  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  nearly.  You  were  trying  to  say  that  you 
were  talking,  and  yet  silent." 

"  Yes.  I  made  up  the  words,  '  Now  I  am  talking,  but 
silent.'  What  you  saw  was  simply  the  action  of  the  organs 
of  articulation.  Now  I  am  going  to  talk  or  articulate,  but 
not  use  my  larynx,  leaving  it  wide  open,  so  as  to  allow  a 
current  of  air  to  flow  from  the  lungs." 


THE    SOPRANO.  1S3 

Then  he  began  to  move  his  lips  as  before.  I  could  hear 
every  word,  though  in  a  whisper. 

"Why,  doctor,  that  upsets  your  whole  theory.  You 
said  one  could  not  talk  without  using  the  larynx,  and  yet  I 
heard  every  word." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  you  say.  You  must  under 
stand  that  I  did  not  talk,  but  whispered.  Whispering  is 
allowing  the  breath  to  rush  freely  from  the  lungs,  and  using 
the  mouth,  tongue,  and  lips,  at  the  same  time,  and  cutting 
the  stream  of  air  up  into  words  as  we  do  in  speech." 

"  Then  the  mouth,  or  articulating  region,  as  you  call  it, 
can  talk,  after  all?  " 

"Oh,  no!  whispering  is  not  talking  nor  singing.  A 
whisper  is  no  more  a  tone  than  the  wind  whistling  through 
a  crack  is  music.  Let  me  explain  more  fully.  The  larynx, 
when  in  action,  produces  toneo  or  sound.  If  the  mouth  is 
shut,  we  call  it  a  muted  tone.  If  the  mouth  is  wide  open, 
and  the  organs  of  articulation  are  not  in  action,  we  call  it 
vocalizing.  If  the  larynx  is  in  action,  but  not  practically 
more  so  than  the  articulation,  we  call  it  speech,  or  talking. 
When  the  action  of  the  larynx  is  the  strongest,  and-  the 
articulating  apparatus  is  so  governed  as  not  to  cover  up, 
injure,  or  interrupt  the  flow  of  the  tone  too  much,  we  call  it 
singing.  Vocalizing  is  acquired  by  practice,  and  to  do  so 
purely  requires  skill.  Mere  talking  does  not  require  so 
much  skill.  Singing  is  an  art,  and  to  sing  words  purely, 
and  yet  distinctly,  shows  the  highest  reach  of  human  skill. 


134  THE   SOPRANO. 

Do  not  confound  this  with  the  other  meaning  of  singing  that 

is  applied  to  things,  as  when  we  say  a  pipe  or  a  bird  sings. 

"  From  what  you  have  seen,  it  must  be  evident  to  you 

chat  mere  whispering  is  not  music.     It  is  without  definite 

» 

pitch.  Talking  has  pitch.  The  voice  goes  up  and  down 
the  scale  freely ;  but  the  real  tone  from  the  larynx  is  so 
covered  up  and  broken  into  detached  fragments,  that  it  is 
not  fair  to  call  it  music.  Some  people  allow  their  larynx 
to  have  greater  play  when  they  talk,  and  we  say  they  have 
a  musical  voice.  Let  us  now  examine  the  larynx  once 
more." 

Placing  the  heated  instrument  in  his  mouth,  I  looked 
at  it  steadily,  and  again  saw  the  quivering  edges  of  the 
vocal  chords  as  a  low  tone  ascended  the  doctor's  brightly 
lighted  throat.  Suddenly  the  pitch  changed,  and  to  my 
astonishment  the  quivering  larynx  assumed  another  shape. 
The  narrow  slit  was  finer  and  narrower.  Again  the  pitch 
changed,  moving  up  one  tone.  At  the  same  instant  the 
larynx  changed.  He  then  sang,  or  rather  vocalized,  through 
the  scale  to  the  top  of  his  voice.  For  every  note  there  was 
a  change  in  the  vocal  chords.  It  is  not  my  intention  to 
give  you  an  account  of  all  I  saw  in  the  laryngoscope. 
What  the  various  changes  were  that  I  observed,  I  cannot  begin 
to  describe.  When  the  examination  was  over,  I  asked  the 
doctor  if  i*,  was  simply  those  changes  in  the  larynx  that 
produced  the  changes  in  pitch. 

"  Yes.     Simple    musical   tones  come  from    the    larynx 


THE    SOPRANt.  136 

alone,  whether  they  are  high  or  low.  In  it  are  produced 
all  musical  sounds.  But  now  we  come  to  the  important 
part  of  the  subject.  The  larynx  causes  the  sound,  but 
the  cavity  of  the  mouth,  the  throat,  and  even  the  chest, 
govern  its  quality,  making  it  louder,  sweeter,  rougher,  or 
purer,  as  we  wish.  They  take  up  the  tone,  reinforce  it, 
and  modify  it  in  various  ways.  I  cannot  instruct  you  how 
to  so  guide  them  that  the  tone  you  produce  may  become 
sweet  and  pure.  That  is  Miss  Sherwin's  duty ;  but  I  can 
and  will  show  you  the  structure  and  functions  of  all  the 
organs  used  in  talking,  vocalizing,  or  singing." 

"  But,  doctor,  suppose  my  larynx  was  abnormal,  or  out 
of  health,  what  then?  " 

"In  that  case  you  can  do  nothing.  No  amount  of 
instruction  will  do  the  slightest  good.  You  must  have  some 
reasonable  ground  to  go  upon  ;  some  foundation  to  build 
upon.  You  can  readily  understand  that  one  person's 
larynx  will  produce  a  finer  natural  note  than  another.  That 
is  a  gift  of  nature,  over  which  we  have  no  control.  Nature, 
on  the  other* hand,  is  very  bountiful.  Almost  every  child, 
without  exception,  who  can  talk,  can  be  made  to  sing,  pro 
vided  they  are  taken  in  hand  by  a  competent  instructor, 
at  a  sufficiently  early  age." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  the  children  who  have  no  ear, 
who  cannot  be  made  to  understand  the  difference  between 
one  tone  or  another,  or  between  one  tune  and  another?'' 

"  They  make    the    unfortunate  exceptions    to    my  rule. 


136  THE   SOPKANO. 

They  are  'sound  blind,'  just  as  some  people  are  'color 
blind.'  All  we  can  do  is  to  pity  them,  for  they  are  shut  out 
from  a  world  of  happiness  and  comfort." 

"  Now,  doctor,  one  more  question.  How  is  it  these 
changes  in  the  larynx  are  accomplished  .  ' 

"I  do  not  know,  nor  does  any  one.  The  mind  wills  it 
to  assume  a  certain  position,  and  the  bundle  of  muscles 
surrounding  the  vocal  chords  pull  them  into  a  certain  posi 
tion  ;  the  lungs  send  up  a  stream  of  air,  and  they  '  speak,'  as 
the  organ-builders  say,  in  the  same  way  we  will  our  hand 
to  rise,  and  it  rises ;  how,  we  know  not.  The  only  differ 
ence  is  that  we  can  see  our  hand,  and  it  is  endowed  with 
sensation,  so  that  the  eye  and  the  nerves  of  sensation  assist 
the  mind  in  giving  its  commands.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
~ocal  chords  are  nearly  destitute  of  feeling ;  and  certainly 
we  cannot  see  them,  except  in  a  mirror." 

"  Then  what  is  the  use  of  knowing  anything  about  them 
at  all  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  knowing  with  certainty  where  to  go  to 
work  to  improve  the  voice,  in  the  regions  of  respiration  and 
articulation.  The  control  of  the  larynx  is  only  to  be 
acquired  by  practice ;  but  when  you  come  to  respiration, 
articulation,  and  the  government  of  the  sounding-boards  of 
the  chest  and  roof  of  the  mouth,  you  are  dealing  with  some 
thing  more  under  your  control,  part  of  the  organs  being 
visible,  and  endowed  with  the  highest  sensation.  It  is  for 
this  reason  we  desired  to  have  you  under  Miss  Sherwin'a 


THE    SOPRANO.  137 

instruction.  She  is  thoroughly  posted  in  the  musical,  scien 
tific,  and  physiological  sides  of  the  subject.  Her  methods 
are  founded  upon  a  comprehensive  and  sensible  view  of  the 
rationale  of  vocal  music.  She  has  followed  Madam  Seiler 
partly,  though  on  many  points  she  has  distanced  her.  You 
will  find,  as  you  progress,  that  her  aim  will  be,  first,  to 
teach  you  to  produce  pure  tones,  and,  above  all,  to  articu 
late  distinctly,  and  afterwards  to  sing  written  music.  Then, 
when  you  come  to  examine  the  subject  of  sound,  simply, 
under  Mr.  Hookson,  you  will  perceive  how  important  that 
side  of  the  matter  is.  He  will  show  you  how  the  quality, 
or  timbre  of  a  tone,  produced  by  a  reed,  or  the  larynx,  or 
other  sounding  body,  is  governed  by  any  box,  tube,  pipe,  01 
other  hollow  body,  when  placed  in  connection  with  it." 

"  Please  don't  say  any  more,  sir.  I  see  I  am  upon  the 
threshold  of  a  science.  Will  my  feeble  steps  sustain  me  in 
such  a  wonderful  country  as  I  am  entering?  Can  I,  a  girl, 
enter  in  where  but  few  women  have  dared  to  walk  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Miss  Ward.  You  are  strong,  clear-headed,  and 
plucky.  What  earthly  reason  is  there  why  a  woman  can 
not  study  the  art  of  singing,  the  science  of  sound,  or 
anatomy?  " 

With  these  encouraging  words  the  lesson  closed.  I  wish 
I  had  time  to  give  you  an  account  of  my  studies  with  the 
doctor.  It  was  vastly  interesting.  He  led  me  into  the 
marvellous  regions  of  physical  science;  showed  me  the 
whole  structure  of  the  lungs,  the  throat,  the  sounding-board 


138  THE   SOPRANO. 

of  the  mouth,  aud  a  wilderness  of  other  matters,  both  inter 
esting  and  entertaining.  He  even  exhibited  a  part  of  a 
dissected  human  larynx  and  throat,  showed  me  the  nasal 
openings,  and  all  the  strange  multitude  of  bones,  muscles, 
and  nerves  that  make  up  this  curious  apparatus  for  making 
tones,  words,  and  music.  He  explained  to  me  the  use  of 
the  epiglottis,  the  false  vocal  chords,  and  the  microscopic 
celia,  that  with  ceaseless  activity  flood  the  whole  surface  of 
the  throat  and  mouth  with  moisture,  and  keep  it  in  health 
and  flexibility.  He  loaned  me  several  books,  that  I  read 
with  avidity.  In  short,  he  almost  made  an  M.  D.  of  me. 
Nor  were  my  music  and  voice  alone  benefited.  My  studies 
*aught  me  the  rules  of  hygiene,  and  I  learned  to  gain  my 
health,  and  keep  it,  for  without  robust  health  all  my  studies 
would  have  been  valueless.  Without  perfect  health  a  singer 
cannot  hope  to  succeed. 


THE   SOPRANO.  139 


CHAPTER  XL 

"THEIK  SOUND  HAS  GONE   OUT  INTO  ALL  LANDS." — The  Messiah. 

AT  the  appointed  hour  I  was  before  a  huge,  rambling, 
wooden  factory,  having  an  immense  sign  painted  upon  it, 
"  Charles  Hookson  &  Company,  Church  Organ  Manu 
factory."  The  front  door  was  open ;  so  I  entered,  and 
found  myself  in  a  small  hall.  Two  doors  on  either  side 
opened  into  what  seemed  to  be  counting-rooms,  while 
another  door,  standing  open,  exhibited  a  large  workshop, 
filled  with  a  variety  of  queer-looking  machinery.  Some 
men  were  at  work  there,  and  as  a  small  sign  said,  "  No 
admittance,"  I  turned  one  side  into  the  counting-room,  and 
inquired  of  a  clerk  if  Mr.  Hookson  was  in. 

"  He  is,  miss.  He  has  just  gone  upstairs.  You  can  gc 
right  up  if  you  wish  to  see  him." 

As  I  turned  to  go,  Mr.  Hookson  entered  the  office. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Ward.  Glad  to  see  you.  1  am 
busy  just  at  present.  Will  you  amuse  yourself  by  looking 
about  the  factory  for  a  little  while  till  I  am  at  leisure  ? 
Walk  upstairs,  through  the  packing-room,  into  the  setting-up 
room.  You  may  see  something  to  interest  you  there." 

Not  wishing  to  detain  him  I  made  no  reply,  but  followed 
his  directions.  Climbing  up  a  flight  of  dark,  wooden  stairs, 


140  THE   SOPRANO. 

I  found  myself  in  a  large  and  very  lofty  room.  Three 
rows  of  windows  extended  across  two  sides,  one  over  the 
other,  to  the  ceiling.  On  the  remaining  sides  were  two  sets 
of  doors,  one  over  the  other,  with  short  flights  of  steps 
reaching  to  the  upper  set.  Each  door  was  numbered,  and 
appeared  to  open  on  to  other  floors  or  parts  of  the  building. 
Sundry  tall  ladders  extended  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling, 
as  if  to  enable  the  workmen  to  reach  any  point  in  the  room 
desired.  Everything  was  very  rough  about  the  place,  and 
time-worn,  as  if  the  factory  had  been  in  use  a  long  while. 
In  contrast  to  the  ancient  room  itself  were  two  splendid 
new  church,  organs,  glistening  with  freshly  painted  and 
gilded  pipes,  and  ornamented  with  carving  and  fancy  wood 
work.  Besides  these,  were  three  other  organs,  evidently  in 
process  of  construction.  Though  the  whole  scene  was  a 
novel  one,  yet  I  understood  it  at  once,  and  with  the  great 
est  curiosity  proceeded  to  examine  the  lofty  instruments. 
The  case  of  the  organ  in  the  middle  of  the  room  only 
extended  across  the  front,  so  that  all  the  machinery  and 
pipes  were  in  full  view.  One  row  of  large  wooden  pipes 
extended  across  the  back  of  the  organ,  and,  as  the  mouths 
of  each  were  level  with  my  shoulder,  I  could  examine  them 
easily.  I  could  see  the  thin  lower  lip  with  a  narrow  slit 
in  it,  and  the  sharp  edge  of  the  upper  lip  just  above  it.  I 
wondered  if  that  was  copied  after  a  human  larynx,  and 
thought  I  would  ask  Mr.  Hookson  about  it.  Seeing  a  little 
dust  on  the  lip  of  a  pipe  I  blew  it  away,  to  enable  me  to  see 


THE    SOPRANO.  141 

better.  "Why,  how  queer!"  The  puff  of  air  from  my 
mouth  echoed  in  the  hollow  pipe  with  a  deep  rumble. 
This  I  said  aloud  as  I  stood  there  before  the  gaping  mouth 
of  the  pipe.  Another  surprise :  from  the  pipe  came  a 
dull,  confused  murmur,  —  the  sound  of  my  voice  reverber 
ating  in  the  pipe.  Well,  I  have  come  into  a  place  queei 
and  interesting. 

"  What  do  you  find  to  entertain  you?  " 

Looking  up,  I  discovered  Mr.  Hookson. 

"  Everything,  sir  ;  but  especially  the  singular  effect  this 
pipe  has  on  my  voice.  If  I  stand  near  enough,  a  very  deep 
and  hollow  voice,  that  does  not  seem  my  own,  comes  from 
the  pipe." 

u  You  have  lighted  upon  the  very  subject  to  which  I  wish 
to  draw  your  attention,  —  reinforcement.  The  column  of 
air  confined  by  the  wooden  walls  of  the  pipe  is  impressed  by 
the  vibration  of  your  voice,  and  at  once  begins  to  vibrate 
too,  out  of  pure  sympathy.  If  you  were  to  sing  a  tone, 
'  A '  for  instance,  and  then  stand  before  a  pipe  tuned  with 
in  a  tone  or  two  of  A,  you  would  hear  something  very 
remarkable.  The  pipe  would  answer  to  your  voice,  and 
sing  too.  I  do  not  know  that  these  diapasons  would,  as 
they  are  so  large ;  but  perhaps  we  could  find  one  somewhere 
in  the  organ." 

Thinking  I  had  got  hold  of  a  bright  idea,  I  said  :  — 

"  Is  that  not  just  like  the  vocal  organs,  and  does  not  this 
narrow  slit  in  the  pipe  correspond  to  the  larynx?  " 


142  THE   SOPRANO. 

"  Not  quite ;  this  is  a  flue-pipe,  and  constructed  on  a 
different  principle.  But  let  us  not  wander  away  from  the 
subject.  We  will  come  to  this  matter  by  and  by,  now  we 
are  looking  into  reverberation,  or  reinforcement.  Here," 
said  he,  taking  out  a  small,  two-pronged  instrument,  "is 
my  tuning-fork ;  I  will  sound  it,  and  then  hold  it  before  a 
pipe  of  the  same  pitch,  '  A,'  and  the  pipe  will  at  once  sing 
of  its  own  accord." 

Thereupon  he  struck  the  fork  a  smart  rap  against  a  board, 
and  held  it  before  the  lips  of  a  pipe  marked  in  pencil,  "A." 
No  particular  result  followed. 

"  The  pipe  is  so  large  that  the  fork  cannot  force  it  into 
action.  Come  into  the  voicing-room,  and  we  will  experi 
ment  on  a  smaller -pipe." 

Leading  the  way,  he  showed  me  into  a  small  side  room, 
havmg  chests  of  shallow  drawers  extending  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  filling  three  sides  of  the  room.  On  the  remaining 
side  was  a  work-bench,  and  a  queer  machine,  looking  like  a 
piano  in  embryo.  A  set  of  keys  in  front,  and  on  top,  rows 
of  holes  pierced  through  the  wood-work.  Just  above  it  was 
a  rack  for  holding  the  pipes  erect  when  placed  over  the 
holes.  Going  to  a  drawer,  he  opened  it  and  displayed  a 
number  of  brightly  shining  metal  pipes.  Selecting  one 
about  a  foot  long,  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  struck  the  tuning- 
fork  on  the  drawer,  and  held  it,  still  vibrating,  at  the  mouth 
of  the  pipe.  At  once  a  soft,  pure  tone  seemed  to  come  from 
the  pipe. 


THE    SOPEANO.  143 

"How  very  singular  !  Why,  without  the  pipe  I  cannot 
hear  anything." 

"No;  it  is  only  when  the  fork  is  reinforced  by  some 
sounding  body,  that  will  take  up  its  vibrations  and  swell 
their  force,  that  we  can  hear  it,  unless  we  put  it  close  to  our 
ear.  This  rack  on  the  voicing-table  will  reinforce  the  tone, 
just  as  the  column  of  air  does  in  the  pipe.  Hear  it, 
now." 

Setting  the  fork  in  vibration,  and  touching  the  handle  to 
the  wood,  its  tone  was  at  once  audible,  but  very  rough  and 
impure. 

"You  see  this  bit  of  board  vibrates  too,  but  not  so 
purely  as  the  air  in  the  pipe." 

"  But,  sir,  suppose  you  blow  in  the  pipe,  should  we  hear 
the  same  sweet  tone  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no!  It  will  be  of  the  same  pitch,  but  of  different 
quality.  Listen." 

Putting  the  foot  of  the  pipe  in  his  mouth,  he  blew  into  it, 
and  a  loud,  rich  tone  swelled  out,  filling  the  room  with 
musical  vibrations. 

"  You  hear  the  '  A '  as  before  ;  but  how  different !  That 
difference  is  what  the  French  call  timbre;  it  is  in  this  case 
caused  by  the  greater  power  of  the  pipe  than  the  fork.  The 
same  difference  exists  in  voices.  As  you  know,  every  one's 
voice  has  its  own  peculiar  quality  whereby  we  recognize  it. 
Let  us  examine  still  farther. 

Going  to  half-a-dozen  different  drawers,  he  procured  aa 


144  THE    SOPRANO. 

many  pipes,  and  set  them  up,  side  by  side,  on  the  voicing- 
table.  They  were  of  different  sizes,  though  of  about  the 
same  length. 

"  These  are  all  tuned  to  sound  '  C,'  and  yet  each  is  very 
different  from  another." 

Touching  a  liey,  one  of  the  pipes  gave  forth  a  soft, 
mellow  note ;  another  was  louder,  but  as  sweet.  Another 
was  rougher  and  more  decided.  Still  another  poured  forth 
a  pure,  clear,  and  powerful  note ;  while  one  more,  when 
sounded,  filled  the  room  with  a  very  rich  ringing  volume  of 
sound. 

"No doubt  if  you  were  told  the  name  of  each  of  these, 
and  you  were  to  hear  them  several  times,  you  could  give 
the  name  of  each  if  you  merely  heard  its  voice." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  could.  Each  has  its  own  particular 
character,  not  to  be  mistaken.  But  how  do  you  get  this 
great  difference  ?  ' ' 

"  By  a  slight  difference  in  construction.  One  pipe  has  a 
greater  diameter,  another  has  thinner  lips,  another  has  the 
lips  cut  into  sharp  notches,  and  so  on." 

"  Does  that  make  the  difference  in  human  voices?  " 

"  In  a  measure.  The  different  construction  of  the  mouth, 
lips,  tongue,  teeth,  and  the  difference  in  the  size  of  the 
larynx,  make  what  we  would  call  a  difference  in  '  voicing.' ' 

"  But  how  does  this  help  me  ?  You  can  alter  your  pipes, 
and  give  it  any  voicing  you  please  ;  but  I  cannot  alter  my 
larynx,  nor  my  tongue." 


THE    SOPRANO.  1^5 

"  You  are  partly  in  the  right,  and  partly  wrong.  It  is 
true,  nature  made  your  vocal  organs,  and  you  must  accept 
them  as  they  are ;  yet  she  has  given  you  a  certain  amount  of 
control  over  them,  and  you  can  so  place  them  as  to  make  a 
much  sweeter,  or  a  much  louder  tone.  What  I  am  endeavor 
ing  to  show  you  is,  that  in  studying  vocal  music  you 
must  begin  at  the  right  place,  and  study  to  improve,  mainly, 
those  parts  over  which  you  have  the  most  control.  I  con 
sider  the  teacher  should,  in  the  first  place,  instruct  in 
'  voicing,'  just  as  we  '  voice  '  our  pipes  before  we  place  them 
in  the  organ,  and  attempt  to  get  any  music  from  them. 

"These  pipes,"  said  he,  taking  them  up,  and  putting 
them  back  in  the  drawers,  and  talking  meanwhile,  "are 
flue-pipes.  They  produce  a  tone  by «,  thin  sheet  of  wind 
being  driven  through  the  narrow  slits,  called  the  '  wind- 
way,'  and  as  it  strikes  the  sharp,  upper  lip  it  flutters  to  and 
fro,  and  the  column  of  air  above  it  in  the  pipe  is  thrown 
into  action,  and  vibrates  through  its  length  vertically.  That 
vibration  strikes  the  ear,  and  we  call  it  sound.  Do  you 
understand  me?  " 

"  Not  wholly,  sir.  I  suppose  I  shall  in  time,  however 
I  understand  the  '  voicing '  readily,  but  I  do  not  see  why  it 
is  that  the  air  in  the  pipe  should  vibrate  at  all." 

' '  That   is    something   I   cannot  explain    now.     I  have 
several  books  for  you  to  read  that  will  tell  you  more  about 
it  than  I  can.     You  must  not  expect  to  grasp  the  whole 
10 


146  THE  SOPRANO. 

subject  at  once.     All  these  pipes  I  have  shown  you  are 
flue-pipes.     Now  let  me  show  you  a  reed-pipe." 

Taking  from  another  drawer  a  small  pipe  having  a 
stouter  and  longer  point,  or  foot,  and  above  it  a  very  narrow 
pipe,  with  a  bell-shaped  top,  he  said  :  — 

"  This  pipe,  as  you  see,  has  no  mouth.  The  only  open 
ing  is  at  the  top  of  the  pipe.  It  is  made  in  two  parts.  I 
will  pull  them  apart  and  you  can  examine  the  inside." 

One  part  consisted  of  a  simple  conical  tube,  and  the  other 
was  made  like  a  cover  to  fit  over  it.  A  small  pipe  extended 
through  this  cover,  then  upward  a  few  inches,  and  termi 
nated  in  a  bell-shaped  opening.  When  the  two  parts  were 
together,  a  part  of  the  pipe  extended  down  into  the  conical 
foot,  and  in  this  part  was  a  narrow  opening,  completely 
closed  by  a  thin  strip  or  tongue  of  brass,  called  the  reed. 
A  bit  of  iron  wire  extended  through  the  cover,  and  having 
one  end  coiled  up  against  the  reed. 

"  When  this  pipe  is  in  position  in  the  organ,"  said  Mr. 
Hookson,  "the  wind  from  the  bellows  rushes  into  the  foot 
of  the  pipe,  and,  finding  no  means  of  escape,  attempts  to  pasa 
through  the  opening  under  the  reed.  The  reed  shuts  down 
at  once  and  closes  the  opening;  but,  being  elastic,  it  flies 
back  again.  The  wind,  still  pressing  on  it,  closes  it  again ; 
the  operation  is  repeated,  the  reed  vibrates  rapidly,  and  a 
sound  is  produced.  Sound  is  simply  vibration  of  the  air, 
and  in  this  case  the  reed  beating  backward  and  forward  sets 
the  air  in  motion.  The  bent  piece  of  wire-  regulates  the 


THE   SOPRANO.  147 

free  length  of  the  reed,  so  that  we  can  govern  the  numher 
of  vibrations  it  makes  in  a  second,  and  so  give  it  a  definite 
pitch.  The  longer  it  is,  the  slower  it  beats ;  the  shorter, 
the  faster." 

"  Why,  is  pitch  regulated  by  a  definite  number  of  vibra 
tions?" 

"  Yes.  This  pipe  is  tuned  to  '  G  in  alt,'  and  the  reed 
makes  just  seven  hundred  and  twenty  beats  in  a  second. 
If  it  beat  a  less  number  of  times,  the  pitch  would  be  lower ; 
if  more,  higher." 

"  Tell  me  more,  sir.     I  am  greatly  interested." 

"I  cannot  now.  We  must  stick  to  one  point,  and  not 
branch  off.  What  I  wish  to  show  you  is  the  analogy 
between  this  reed-pipe  and  the  human  voice.  This  reed 
acts  in  the  same  manner  as  a  larynx,  and  the  pipe  over  it 
reinforces  the  tone,  just  as  the  mouth  and  throat  do." 

"  I  understand  you,  sir ;  but  here  you  have  but  one  reed, 
and  I  saw  two  vibrating  bodies  in  the  doctor's  laryngoscope." 

"  You  are  right  there,  yet  the  principle  is  the  same.  —  a 
reed  and  a  pipe  over  it.  What  I  want  to  show  you  is,  how 
the  pipe  over  the  reed  alters  the  quality  of  the  tone, 
making  it  louder,  rougher,  clearer,  or  trumpet  like." 

From  the  drawer  he  then  brought  forth  three  reed-pipes, 
having  differently  shaped  tops.  One  was  long  and  slender, 
another  like  a  stumpy  funnel,  and  the  third  was  small  at 
the  bottom ;  but  spread  out  wider  and  wider  to  the  top. 
Placing  them  on  the  voicing-table,  he  caused  them  to  speak. 


148  THE    SOPRANO. 

Each  gave  the  same  pitch,  but  very  different  in  juality. 
One  was  clear  and  bright,  another  was  like  a  clarion,  and 
the  other  had  the  rich,  resonant  clang  of  a  loud  and  power 
ful  trumpet. 

"There,  Miss  Ward,  do  you  understand  my  meaning 
now?" 

"  I  think  I  do,  sir,"  I  replied,  after  a  moment's  thought. 
"  What  you  wish  to  show  is,  that  the  reed,  like  the  larynx, 
can  change  mainly  in  point  of  pitch  ;  but  that  the  cavity  of 
the  mouth,  the  lips,  teeth,  etc.,  are  made  to  govern  the 
quality  of  the  tone,  and  thereby  produce  a  voice,  sweet, 
pure,  rich,  loud,  soft,  harsh,  rough,  pleasing  or  displeasing, 
just  as  you  may  wish." 

"  Exactly.  That  is,  as  a  general  rule,  if  the  reed  is  a 
good  one,  or  the  larynx  is  in  health.  There  is  some  fun  in 
teaching  you,  Miss  Ward.  You  must  come  again  a  week 
from  to-day,  and  I  will  show  you  more.  I  must  go  now,  as 
I  am  busy." 

As  we  walked  back  we  passed  the  new  organ,  and  I 
noticed  under  each  of  the  huge  wooden  pipes  a  small 
handle. 

"  What  are  those  handles  for,  sir  ?  " 

"  To  regulate  the  amount  of  wind  each  pipe  is  to  receive. 

A  little  too  much,  or  not  enough,  wind,  would  injure  the 

timbre  of  the  tone.     You  must  bear  that  little  point  in 

lind.     Too  much,  or  not  enough,   air  from  your  lungs, 


THE   SOPRANO.  149 

when  driven  into  the  larynx,  may  undo  all  your  efforts  to 
obtain  purity  of  tone." 

"  Oh,  dear,  sir,  don't  tell  me  any  more.  I  am  almost 
bewildered  already. ' ' 

u  Never  you  fear.  Patience  and  a  clear  head  are  equal 
to  any  task." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     Good-morning." 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Ward ;  "  and  the  door  closed  behind  me 
as  I  stepped  into  the  street  again. 

One  week  after,  I  again  appeared  at  the  factory,  and 
took  another  lesson.  I  became  greatly  interested  in  the 
whole  matter  of  sound.  Mr.  Hookson  was  indeed  a  friend, 
and  posted  me  in  all  the  marvellous  laws  that  govern  sound, 
reinforcement,  overtones,  tuning,  sympathy,  and  a  bewilder 
ing  multitude  of  other  things.  He  drew  on  the  wall,  with  a 
bit  of  chalk,  curious  diagrams,  showing  the  difference 
between  noise  and  music.  Some  of  the  drawings  of  pure 
tones  were  beautiful.  I  wish  I  had  time  to  tell  you  more  ; 
but  I  have  not.  There  is  one  book  recently  published,  that, 
when  I  first  read  it,  entertained  me  more  than  any  novel  I 
ever  read,  —  "  Tyndall  on  Sound."  You  must  read  it. 

From  that  time  my  studies  went  on  slowly,  but  success 
fully.  One  day  I  visited  the  doctor,  and  another  spent  an 
hour  in  the  shades  of  the  great  factory.  In  fact,  I  became 
quite  at  home  there,  and  found  many  friends  among  the 
workmen.  They  seemed  delighted  to  have  some  one  who 
showed  an  interest  in  their  work.  They  loved  to  talk  of 


150  THE   SOPRANO. 

their  work,  and  of  the  great  instruments  they  built.  Many 
a  time  have  I  watched  some  splendid  organ  rise  from  day 
to  day,  till  it  was  finished.  I  have  sat  by  the  hour  holding 
the  keys,  while  the  tuner  was  at  work  high  up  among  the 
forest  of  pipes,  and,  when  it  was  done,  have  played  for  visit 
ors  who  called  to  examine  the  instrument.  These  things  I 
did,  to  show,  as  well  as  I  could,  my  appreciation  and  grati 
tude  for  all  Mr.  Hookson's  kindness.  When  I  reached  the 
close  of  my  first  quarter,  I  found  I  could  not  pay  my  bills 
by  just  three  dollars.  I  at  once  sold  some  of  my  jewelry, 
left  me  by  my  mother,  and  paid  up  every  bill.  I  had  a 
terrible  fight  with  poverty  the  first  few  months.  I  reduced 
my  expenses  to  the  last  cent,  and,  as  my  father  told  you, 
went  many  a  day  on  a  ten-cent  dinner.  Scholars  did  not 
come  to  me  as  fast  as  I  had  wished ;  I  obtained  two  more  ; 
but  when  the  summer  came  they  all  went  out  of  town.  At 
last  I  broke  down.  A  low  diet,  want  of  sufficient  clothing, 
and  a  sense  of  discouragement  pulled  me  down.  My  pride 
would  not  let  me  tell  of  my  situation,  and  only  my  failing 
strength  caused  Mrs.  Sharp  to  question  me,  and  at  last, 
wring  the  truth  from  me.  She  at  once  offered  to  lend  me 
some  money,  saying  that  I  might  pay  it  back  at  some  future 
time.  I  stoutly  refused  it,  declaring  that  I  never  had  been 
in  debt,  and  never  would  be.  She  then  called  the  doctor, 
and  he  insisted  on  my  taking  some  money  to  aid  me  through 
the  summer,  till  my  scholars  should  return.  He  offered  me 
one  hundred  dollars,  with  the  understanding  that  I  was  to 


THE   SOPRANO.  151 

return  it  whenever  I  was  able,  and  without  interest ;  but  I 
resolutely  refused,  preferring  anything  to  debt.  The  next 
day  he  found  out,  from  Miss  Sherwin,  about  the  piano  I  was 
trying  to  pay  for,  and  that  very  day  I  received  a  receipted 
bill  for  it,  with  a  note,  saying  that  he  had  paid  the  balance 
of  the  bill,  something  like  eighty  dollars.  (The  day  after 
my  first  appearance  in  public  life  I  paid  it  back,  and  was 
out  of  debt  once  more.)  The  relief,  and  my  improved 
finances,  enabled  me  to  live  better,  and  I  soon  regained  my 
health  and  spirits. 

In  the  fall  my  pupils  returned.  For  the  next  two  years 
I  labored  hard  and  patiently.  Gradually  my  prospects 
brightened.  I  obtained  more  scholars,  and  a  better  situa 
tion  as  chorister.  My  life  passed  very  much  as  I  have 
described.  Practice,  study,  and  lessons  filled  up  my  days. 
I  will  not  attempt  a  description  of  my  life,  but  will  skip 
over,  to  the  third  winter  of  my  residence  in  the  city,  just 
before  I  began  my  public  career. 

In  all  these  long  months  I  never  once  saw  my  father  or 
Frank.  I  often  received  letters  from  the  former,  but  of 
the  latter  I  heard  not  a  word. 


152  THE   SOPRANO. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

" SLEEP* as,  WAKE!  A  VOICE  is  CALLING."  —  St.  Paul. 

I  HAD  now  attained  to  a  safe  and  desirable  position.  A 
comfortable  home,  easy  and  pleasant  work,  and  not  too  much 
of  it;  good  society,  many  kind  friends,  and  an  income 
sufficient  for  all  my  wants,  instruction  included.  I  ought  to 
have  been  satisfied,  but  was  not.  I  wanted  more ;  that  I 
might  call  my  father  to  me,  and  surround  his  later  years 
with  a  few  comforts  ;  besides,  I  wished  to  lay  up  something 
for  a  rainy  day.  The  sum  that  I  did  lay  one  side  each 
month  seemed  very  small.  I  waited  long  and  patiently  for 
an  opportunity  to  improve  my  affairs ;  but  it  came  not,  and 
I  had  about  made  up  my  mind  to  settle  down  to  the  quiet 
life  of  a  music-teacher,  and  expect  nothing  more.  Young 
girls  often  think,  when  disappointed  in  an  early  ambition, 
that  life  has  nothing  more  for  them.  Life  is  long,  and  a 
world  of  events  can  be  crowded  into  it,  if  we  wait,  labor,  and 
despair  not. 

One  dark,  winter  afternoon,  as  I  passed  along  the  snowy 
streets  on  my  way  home  from  a  lesson,  I  began  turning 
over  in  my  mind  how  I  should  spend  the  long,  dull  evening 
alone  in  my  room.  As  I  passed,  I  noticed  a  street- 
poster  :  — 


THE    SOPRANO.  153 

"SUNDAY  EVENING   NEXT, 

MENDELSSOHN'S   ST.    'PAUL,' 
With  full  chorus,  orchestra,  and  eminent  solo  talent,  etc.,  etc." 

"  How  I  wish  I  could  go  ;  I  should  so  like  to  hear  £  St. 
Paul.'  Wonder  what  it  costs?  One  dollar  and  a  half. 
Must  not  think  of  it.  No  doubt  it  would  do  me  good,  and  I 
should  enjoy  it  greatly ;  far  more  than  hundreds  of  girls 
who  will  go,  and  yet  care  little  or  nothing  for  it.  Heigh 
ho !  Wish  I  was  rich,  and  did  not  have  to  count  every 
dollar." 

AS  I  turned  into  our  street,  I  observed  a  carriage  at  the 
door.  As  this  was  not  an  unusual  thing  I  did  not  hurry, 
thinking  it  some  of  my  rich  patrons  in  search  of  me.  They 
could  afford  to  wait,  better  than  I  to  hasten,  after  a  long 
day's  work.  At  the  door,  I  was  surprised  to  find  Dr. 
Sharp. 

"  0  Miss  Ward  !  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  I  have 
been  running  half  over  the  city  to  find  you.  I  want  you  to 
go  with  me  and  sing  before  the  —  the  —  some  friends. 
Jump  right  in,  please ;  we  may  be  in  time  yet." 

"  Please,  doctor,  let  me  change  my  things.  I  am  not  fit 
to  be  seen  anywhere." 

"  Yes,  you  are  ;  come  right  along.  You  will  not  meet 
any  one,  only  some  gentlemen." 

He  opened  the  carriage-door,  and  almost  thrust  me  in. 

"  But,  doctor,  at  least  let  me  brush  my  hair." 


154  THE   SOPRANO. 

"  Never  mind  your  hair.  Drive  on,"  said  he,  to  the 
coachman,  then  jumped  in  beside  me,  and  away  we  went. 

"  Now,  doctor,  what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  Don't  ask  me.  Keep  quiet,  and  rest  yourself  and 
your  voice.  I  met  a  friend  of  mine,  and  he  expressed  a 
wish  to  have  you  sing  for  him  this  evening.  It  is  a  good 
chance  for  you,  and  may  lead  to  something  great." 

"But,  doctor—" 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  pray.  Keep  quiet,  and  do  just  as  I 
bid  you.  I'll  explain  everything  by  and  by." 

In  a  few  moments  the  carriage  stopped,  and  we  got  out. 
Going  up  a  narrow  court,  we  stopped  before  a  huge  door, 
and  rang  the  bell. 
.  "What  place  is  this,  doctor?  " 

"  Don't  talk,  please,  in  this  cold  night  air.  Save  your 
voice." 

Biting  my  lips  with  vexation  at  my  want  of  discretion,  I 
relapsed  into  silence,  and  suffered  the  doctor  to  lead  me 
through  the  door,  when  it  opened  into  a  large,  dark,  and 
cheerless  entry-way,  or  corridor.  The  man  who  opened  the 
door  for  us  held  in  his  hand  a  flaring  candle,  that  served  to 
make  the  gloomy  place  barely  visible. 

"  Has  he  come  ?  "  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man.  "He  is  upstairs  at  the 
organ." 

"Good !     We  will  go  right  up  there." 

So  the  man  with  the  light  led  the  way,  and  we  passed 


THE   SOPRANO.  155 

through  the  corridor,  up  a  short  flight  of  steps,  and  came  to 
a  narrow  double  door,  that  parted  for  us  at  the  slightest 
pressure,  and  closed  in  silence  behind  us.  If  I  had  not 
been  standing  on  a  soft  mat,  I  should  have  said  we  had 
stepped  into  the  open  air.  "We  seemed  to  be  under  the  open 
sky..  Our  feeble  light  failed  utterly  to  illumine  the  high 
place  we  were  in.  I  could  make  out  the  lengthening  rows  of 
seats,  extending  rank  behind  rank,  far  off  into  the  dark, 
and  nothing  more.  Not  much  time  was  allowed  to  see 
anything,  for  the  doctor  pushed  hastily  on,  as  if  quite  at 
home.  A  few  more  steps,  and  we  came  to  a  broad  platform, 
completely  filled  with  a  labyrinth  of  chairs,  and  music- 
racks.  On  either  side  a  steep  amphitheatre  of  seats  extended 
up,  almost  out  of  sight.  Discovering  a  light,  we  threaded 
our  way  among  the  chairs,  till  we  came  to  a  gentleman 
seated  on  a  broad,  wooden  seat,  with  a  gas  jet  burning  beside, 
him,  and  before  him  the  four  banks,  and  cloud  of  stops,  of 
a  large  organ. 

"  Mr.  Woodford,  Miss  Ward.  As  we  have  no  time  to 
lose,  we  will  not  stop  for  ceremony.  Mr.  Woodford  wishes 
to  hear  you  sing,  Miss  Ward.  Will  you  oblige  him?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.     What  shall  I  sing?  " 

"  Here  is  the  '  Messiah ; '  try  that." 

"  Let's  see,"  said  Mr.  Woodford.  "  Turn  to  '  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer.'  That  will  do  as  well  as  anything." 

As  I  took  the  book  the  doctor  whispered  in  my  ear,  — 
"  Do  your  best ;  everything  depends  upon  it." 


156  THE   SOPRANO. 

I  nodded  silently,  and  prepared  to  sing. 

"Please  not  stand  so  near;  go  down  to  the  front  of  the 


"  Where  is  that?  I  cannot  see." 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  the  candle  from 
our  guide.  Leading  the  way,  he  conducted  me  to  the  end 
of  the  wilderness  of  chairs,  and  stopped  before  the  edge  of  a 
black  space.  Instantly  the  organ  began  to  play ;  it  seemed 
quite  near,  almost  over  my  head.  As  he  played  the  pre 
lude,  I  glanced  around  to  see  where  we  could  be.  By  the 
aid  of  the  flaring  yellow  light,  I  managed  to  make  out  the 
dim  and  shadowy  outline  of  a  vast  hall.  How  it  would 
look  when  lighted  I  could  not  imagine.  Well,  the  doctor 
held  the  light,  and  I  sang  the  aria  as  well  as  I  could.  When 
about  half  way  through,  memories  of  the  last  time  I  sang 
the  piece  came  to  me.  Thoughts  of  my  mother,  of  Frank, 
and  of  our  little  church  at  Rockford,  crowded  my  mind, 
and,  perhaps,  tinged  the  music.  No  sooner  had  the  last 
note  died  away,  than  a  sudden  clapping  of  hands  broke  out 
of  the  dark  before  me. 

"What  does  this  mean,  doctor?  I  thought  we  were 
alone.  You  have  been  playing  me  some  trick." 

'*  Granted.  A  harmless  one,  however.  Here  come  your 
small  and  select  audience." 

Just  then  the  confused  noise  of  talking  came  towards  us, 
and  four  gentlemen  stepped  into  the  small  circle  of  candle 
light,  and  I  was  at  once  introduced  to  them.  They  all 


THE   SOPRANO.  157 

seemed  greatly  delighted  at  something,  and  were  congratu 
lating  themselves  over  some  good  fortune.  They  were  very 
kind  to  me,  and  praised  my  singing  far  too  much.  Among 
them  was  one  man  who  seemed  the  ruling  spirit  of  the 
party,  though  the  most  silent,  evidently  the  conductor. 
He  hardly  spoke  to  me,  merely  saying,  "You  did  very 
well,  Miss  Ward."  A  queer  group  we  made,  the  five  gen 
tlemen  with  their  hats  on,  and  me  in  an  old  hat  and  water 
proof.  I  did  not  think  of  it  at  the  time,  being  too  much 
surprised  for  such  thoughts.  The  gentlemen  still  went  on 
talking  among  themselves,  save  one,  a  Mr.  Loring,  who,  in 
a  few  words,  informed  me  that  he  desired  me  to  sing  at  a 
public  performance  the  next  Sunday  evening,  in  that  hall. 

"What  shall  I  sing?" 

"I'll  show  you  directly.  Let  me  get  a  book.  Have 
you  never  sung  in  oratorio  ?  " 

"  Never,  sir,  nor  can  I.  To-day  is  Friday,  and  how  can 
we  rehearse  in  so  short  a  time  ?  " 

"  One  rehearsal  with  orchestra  will  be  enough.  It 
takes  place  this  evening;  soon,  I  think,"  aaid  he,  looking  at 
his  watch.  ' '  Can  you  wait  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Take  a  chair,  please,  and  I'll  have  them  light  up." 

Thereupon  I  sat  down  in  one  of  the  chairs,  near  the  gen 
tlemen,  who  were  still  talking  among  themselves.  In.  a 
moment  or  so  a  faint  light  spread  itself  over  the  place.  It 
seemed  like  the  gradual  coming  of  daylight  in  the  morning; 


158  THE   SOPRANO. 

by  the  time  it  became  light  enough  to  read,  further  increase 
of  light  ceased.  Glancing  up  at  the  ceiling,  I  discovered 
that  a  thin  thread  of  gas  lights,  extending  part  way  round 
the  end  of  the  hall,  were  burning  brightly.  Just  beyond 
the  edge  of  the  stage  it  ceased,  leaving  the  remainder  of  the 
hall  unlighted,  and  partially  in  the  shade.  I  was  glad  to 
see  this,  as  it  was  evident  no  audience  was  expected.  The 
rehearsal  was  to  be  private.  By  the  time  the  place  was 
lighted,  sundry  gentlemen  began  to  come  in  and  take  seats 
on  the  stage.  All  of  them  brought  instruments.  Evidently 
we  were  to  have  an  orchestra.  I  was  delighted  to  see  this, 
I  can  assure  you.  If  there  is  any  one  thing  I  admire,  it  is 
an  orchestra.  Music  finds  its  highest  expression  from  a 
well-trained  orchestra.  Much  as  I  was  pleased  at  the  pros 
pect,  I  did  not  fancy  sitting  there  among  those  men,  and  in 
my  old  hat  and  faded  waterproof.  However,  Mr.  Loring 
soon  returned,  kindly  apologized  for  his  neglect,  and  offer 
ing  me  another  seat  near  the  edge  of  the  stage,  by  the  con 
ductor's  stand,  said,  that,  as  they  were  pressed  for  time,  I 
had  better  wait  where  I  was,  and  the  rehearsal  would  at 
once  begin.  He  also  informed  me  that  Dr.  Sharp  had  been 
suddenly  called  away,  and  that  a  carriage  would  be  in  wait 
ing  for  me  after  the  rehearsal.  Meanwhile  the  orchestra 
were  noisily  tuning  up,  and  preparing  for  work. 

.In  a  few  moments  the  conductor  appeared,  and  brought 
with  him  a  lady  and  three  gentlemen.  They  were  severally 
introduced  to  me,  and  then  took  seats  beside  me,  facing  the 
great,  ^mptv,  gloomy  hall. 


THE   SOPRANO.  159 

"Friends  in  misery,"  I  called  them.  It  seemed  misery 
to  me  to  be  sitting  there,  preparing  to  take  part  in  a  con 
cert  in  forty-eight  hours,  and  not  even  knowing  what  we 
were  to  sing.  I  had  been  mentally  making  a  list  of  the 
arias  I  was  familiar  with,  and  was  on  the  point  of  asking  the 
conductor  if  I  might  select  for  myself,  when  he  placed  a 
music-book,  open  at  page  twenty,  No.  four  Recitative, 
in  my  hands,  with  the  request  that  I  rise  and  prepare  to  sing. 
He  evidently  supposed  that  I  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
business  in  hand ;  whereas,  I  was  not. 

"Are you  ready?  " 

I  nodded  assent. 

At  once  a  low.  rich  chord  streamed  from  the  orchestra 
behind  me,  and  I  found  myself  reciting  the  music  before  I 
\new  it.  I  had  never  sung  with  an  orchestra  before,  and 
aras  astonished  at  the  ease  with  which  I  did  so.  It  was 
utterly  different  from  the  accompaniment  of  a  piano  or 
organ.  More  true,  sustaining,  and,  to  me,  more  exhilarat 
ing.  Having  sung  my  ten  bars  of  music,  I  sat  down,  and 
two  of  the  gentlemen  took  up  the  next  measure.  Almost 
the  first  word  of  the  piece  I  noticed,  was  the  name 
"  Stephen."  What  is  this  ?  Can  it  be  '  St.  Paul '  ?  " 

Turning  back  to  the  initial  page,  I  discovered  we  were 
singing  from  the  Oratorio  of  St.  Paul.  "  Can  it  be  possi 
ble  that  I  am  expected  to  appear  in  St.  Paul  next  Sunday  ? 
It  must  be  so,  or  I  am  greatly  deceived." 

I  will  not  weary  you  with  an  account  of  this,  my  first, 


160  THE   SOPRANO. 

orch3stral  rehearsal.  I  very  quickly  sang  through  the  part 
allotted  to  me,  and  then  Mr.  Loring  escorted  me  to  the 
door,  and  ushered  me  into  a  carriage.  As  he  closed  the 
door,  he  said :  — 

"  There  will  he  a  chorus  rehearsal  to-morrow  evening ; 
but  you  need  not  attend  unless  you  wish.  We  shall  expect 
you  to  be  ready  for  the  carriage  we  shall  send  you,  on  Sun 
day  evening,  at  six  o'clock.  We  are  greatly  obliged  to  you, 
Miss  Ward,  for  your  kindness  in  singing  for  our  society. 
Good-night." 

Before  I  could  reply,  he  was  gone.  On  reaching  home, 
I  offered  to  pay  the  hackman;  but  he  said  he  had  been 
paid  already.  Going  to  my  room  I  laid  off  my  battered 
hat  and  faded  waterproof,  and  sat  down  to  think.  At  last 
mine  hour  had  come ;  I  was  to  appear  in  oratorio.  If  I 
succeeded,  my  hopes  and  aspirations  were  filled,  and  my 
fortune  made.  If  I  failed  —  well  —  with  God's  help  I 
would  not  fail.  It  were  not  possible  he  would  desert 
me,  after  bringing  me  through  all  these  weary  months  of 
labor  and  waiting.  Tired  and  thankful,  I  sought  my  couch, 
and  soon  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  "orchestra  "  all  night. 

I  was  up  bright  and  early  the  next  morning.  There  was 
a  world  of  things  to  be  done.  A  suitable  dress  to  prepare, 
music  to  rehearse  with  Miss  Sherwin,  and  a  hundred  other 
things  to  do,  in  view  of  the  great  event.  While  waiting  for 
breakfast,  I  took  up  the  morning  paper.  The  first  thing  I 
saw  was  an  advertisement,  the  very  sight  of  which  took  every 


THE    SOPRANO.  161 

particle  of  color  from  my  face.  "What  does  this  mean  ? 
Oh,  I  must  see  Dr.  Sharp  at  once  !  "  Without  waiting  for 
a  mouthful  to  eat,  I  seized  my  things,  rushed  into  the  street, 
hailed  a  horse-car,  and  started,  in  all  haste,  to  find  Dr. 
Sharp.  Reaching  his  door,  I  rang,  nervously. 

"Is  the  doctor  in?" 

"  No,  miss." 

"  Let  me  see  Mrs.  Sharp,  then,  if  you  please." 

I  stepped  into  the  parlor,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for  her. 

Presently  a  voice  in  the  entry  called  me :  — 

"  Come  right  up,  Miss  Ward.  I  am  in  the  children's 
room.  I  am  all  impatience  to  hear  about  your  good 
fortune." 

"Good  fortune,"  said  I,  taking  a  seat  on  a  low  stool; 
"  it  looks  like  it  —  very.  Please  tell  me  all  about  it.  I 
cannot,  and  do  not,  understand  a  thing.  I  am  not  quite 
sure  whether  I  am  awake  or  dreaming." 

"  Can't  understand  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  look  at  that,"  said  I,  handing  her  the  paper. 

"  TO-MORROW,  SUNDAY  EVENING,  AT  CONCERI  QALL, 
MENDELSSOHN'S    'ST.  PAUL.' 

SOLOISTS : 

Soprano  —  Signora  Couchi. 

Alto  —  Miss  Longdale. 

Tenor —  Mr.  Williams. 

Basses  —  Messrs.  Jones  and  White. 

Full  chorus,  etc.,  etc." 
11 


1G2  THE   SOPRANO. 

Having  read  the  above  advertisement,  she  deliberately 
laughed  at  me. 

"You  poor  child,  I  do  not  wonder  you  were  frightened. 
Did  you  think  they  were  playing  you  a  trick?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  think." 

"  Then  you  have  not  heard  the  news?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  the  Couchi  took  it  into  her  little  head  to  demand 
more  pay.  She  wanted  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
The  directors  would  not  give  her  more  than  the  usual  sum 
of  one  hundred  and  fifty,  and  she  refused  to  sing.  John 
heard  of  it,  and  agreed  to  furnish  a  soprano  on  short  notice; 
you  know  the  rest.  If  you  look  in  to-night's  papers,  you 
will  see  '  Soprano,  Miss  Julia  Ward.' ' 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I,  much  relieved. 

"And  now,  '  Miss  Julia  Ward,  Soprano,'  what  will  you 
wear?" 

"  My  black  silk ;  that  is  plain  and  simple." 

"  Black,  dear,  —  what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"I  hardly  know.  My  head  aches  dreadfully,  and  I  am 
so  tired." 

4 'Had  your  breakfast?" 

"  Not  a  mouthful." 

"  Goodness  !  What  a  girl  you  are  !  I  see  I  must  take 
you  in  hand,  and  take  care  of  you  for  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  May  I?" 

"Yes,  dear,  if  you  like." 


THE    SOPRANO.  163 

In  an  instant  little  Milly  was  flying  downstairs  for  hot 
coffee  and  buttered  toast.  Another  little  one  was  despatched 
with  a  note  for  the  dressmaker  to  appear  at  once,  and  bring 
with  her  two  assistants  and  two  machines. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 

"  Buy,  cut,  and  make  you  a  dress.  You  may  appear 
'  plain  and  simple ; '  but  not  in  black." 

"But,  Mrs.  Sharp,  you  must  not;  indeed,  you  must 
not.  I  really  cannot  afford  the  expense  of  a  new  dress." 

" How  about  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars? " 

"  Well,  dear,  go  on ;  do  as  you  please." 

11 1  propose  to.  I  am  going  to  treat  you  as  if  you  were 
my  own  girl,  about  to  make  her  first  appearance.  The 
doctor  will  be  delighted  to  help  too ;  he  is  tremendously 
proud  of  you,  and  so  am  I.  So  will  everybody  be,  to-mor 
row  night.  There's  a  kiss  for  you.  Now  be  good,  and  do 
as  I  tell  you." 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Mother,  mother,"  said  Milly,  entering.  "  Here's  the 
coffee.  May  I  have  some  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,  chicken." 

"  Goody  !  it's  so  nice." 


1C!  THE    SOPRANO. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"OH,     GREAT     IS     THE    DEPTH     OP  THE     RICHES    OF    WISDOM     AND 
KNOWLEDGE  OF  THE  FATHER !  "  —  St.   Paul. 

I  WENT  to  my  usual  choir  rehearsal  that  evening,  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Either  the  other  members  of  the 
choir  had  not  seen  the  evening  papers,  or  else  the  adver 
tisement  had  not  been  changed ;  they  did  not  allude  to  the 
subject,  except  to  say  that  all  intended  to  go  to  the  oratorio. 
I  did  not  inform  them  that  I  was  to  sing,  preferring  they 
should  find  it  out  for  themselves;  besides,  who  could  tell 
how  I  should  succeed  ? 

Sunday  came  and  passed  without  unusual  incidents.  My 
companions  in  the  organ-loft  did  not  discover  the  change  in 
the  evening's  programme  until  just  at  close  of  church,  when 
some  of  the  people  stopped  me  in  the  entry-way,  and  began 
to  congratulate  themselves  and  me.  I  shook  them  off,  as 
politely  as  possible,  and  ran  home  as  fast  as  I  dared,  on  a 
quiet  Sunday  afternoon.  Reaching  my  room,  I  packed  up 
a  few  things,  and  soon  after,  Dr.  Sharp's  carriage  arrived  to 
take  me  to  his  house.  We  had  supper  as  soon  as  I  arrived, 
so  as  to  have  its  effects  well  out  of  the  way  by  seven  o'clock, 
and  then  came  dressing. 

At  a  quarter  before  six  I  was  ready,  and  waiting  in  the 


THE    SOPRANO.  165 

doctor's  parlor.  I  remember  everything  distinctly.  My 
dress  was  a  very  simple  affair,  of  pale  green  silk,  cut  high, 
and  with  but  little  trimming.  I  wore  no  jewelry,  save  a 
single  brooch  at  my  throat.  I  have  the  dress  still  packed 
away  in  one  of  my  trunks.  I  keep  it  as  a  memento  of  my 
first  success  in  life. 

At  last  the  hour  came.  The  great  hall,  brilliantly 
lighted,  was  packed  to  repletion.  The  orchestra  spread  out 
behind  me,  and  back  of  them  rose,  tier  above  tier,  the  splen 
did  choir,  five  hundred  strong.  Over  all  towered  the  mighty 
organ.  Before  them  all,  poor  insignificant  me  !  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  was  thoroughly  frightened.  Could  I  fill  the  vast 
space  around  me  ?  Would  my  voice  be  equal  to  the  occa 
sion  ?  Could  I  keep  my  place  in  the  book,  with  all  these 
novel  and  distracting  surroundings.  These,  and  many  other 
alarming  questions,  rushed  through  my  mind.  I  think  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  reassuring  presence,  in  the  very  front 
seat,  just  at  my  feet,  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Sharp,  Miss  Sher- 
win,  Mr.  Hookson,  and  little  Milly,  I  should  have  made  a 
perfect  failure,  from  sheer  stage  fright.  The  other  soloists 
beside  me  sat  as  unmoved  as  statues,  and  gazed  serenely  at 
the  three  thousand  pairs  of  eyes  before  us,  in  a  way  I  could 
not  understand.  To  my  great  relief  the  conductor  soon 
appeared,  mounted  his  platform  just  beside  me,  and  made  a 
profound  bow  to  the  audience.  At  once  the  confused  mur 
mur  that  brooded  over  everything  died  away,  and  a  strange 
(and  to  me  painful)  hush  spread  over  all.  Glancing  up  at 


166  THE   SOPRANO. 

the  conductor,  I  beheld  his  uplifted  baton,  and  his  face 
glowing  with  the  fire  of  genius  and  inspiration.  The  baton 
moved,  and  at  once  the  slow  chords  of  a  sublime  choral  rose 
from  the  subdued,  but  thrilling  brass.  In  a  moment  fled  all 
my  fears.  I  knew  nothing,  felt  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
save  the  orchestra.  Soon  the  violins  behind  me  woke  up, 
and  joined  the  brass  in  stately  measures.  Directly  the  key 
changed  to  A  minor,  and  the  time  quickened.  Rising 
higher  and  louder,  the  orchestra  swept  along,  gathering 
force  as  it  went.  Growing  tumultuous  and  stormy,  the 
entire  band  came  in,  filling  all  the  air  about  me  with  stormy 
waves  of  sound.  In  full,  sad,  minor  chords,  the  overture 
finally  closed,  and  everything  was  quiet. 

At  once  I  heard  the  choir  rise,  though  I  could  not  see 
them.  In  fitful,  abrupt  chords,  the  orchestra  began  again. 
Suddenly  from  the  dense  mass  broke  one  splendid  shout : 
"Lord!"  —  again  the  orchestra  stormed.  Another  and 
richer  vocal  chord  :  "  Lord  !  "  —  once  more  the  orchestra 
pealed.  With  full  power  the  choir  began :"  Lord  !  Thou 
alone  art  our  God,  and  thine  are  the  heavens,  the  earth,  and 
mighty  waters."  After  a  page  or  two  the  sopranos  and 
altos  jpened  a  fugue:  "The  heathen  furiously  rage, 
Lord  !  against  thee  and  thy  Christ."  That  passed,  a  soft, 
sweet  choral  began  :  "  Now  behold,  lest  our  foes  prevail, 
Lord !  grant  to  thy  servants  all  strength  and  joyfulness, 
that  they  may  preach  thy  word."  The  words  and  music 
fairly  inspired  me.  "  Yes,  Lord !  grant  to  thy  servant 


THE   SOPRANO.  167 

all  strength  and  joyfulness,  and  if  I  cannot  preach,  at  least, 
I  will  sing  thy  word."  These  thoughts  came  to  me,  and 
all  fears  were  gone. 

If  the  performance  of  this  chorus  inspired  me,  the  next 
fairly  thrilled  me.  Subdued,  rich  and  prayerful,  it  seemed 
just  suited  to  my  case.  I  never  knew  before  what  it  was  to 
hear  a  multitude  of  voices  sing  piano,  and  was  not  only 
delighted,  but,  as  I  said,  thrilled,  by  the  music  and  words. 
I  remember  them  distinctly  :  — 

*'  To  God  on  high  be  thanks  and  praise, 

Who  deigns  our  bonds  to  sever; 
His  care  our  drooping  souls,  upraise, 

And  harm  shall  reach  us  never; 
On  him  we  rest,  with  faith  assured, 
Of  all  that  live,  the  mighty  Lord, 
Forever  and  forever." 

A  burst  of  applause  greeted  the  choir  at  this.  It  fright 
ened  me  at  first,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  such  a  noise. 
As  it  died  away,  the  conductor  looked  over  the  top  of  his 
music-rack,  smiled,  and  nodded  for  me  to  rise.  Two  of  the 
gentlemen  rose,  and  I  stood  up  beside  them.  Well,  I 
repeated  my  short  recitative,  the  gentlemen  theirs,  and  we 
sat  down  just  as— the  choir  broke  out  again  in  that  fierce, 
wild  chorus :  "  Now  this  man  ceases  not."  As  I  sat  down, 
I  glanced  at  my  friends  before  me,  and  saw  a  queer  scene 
Mr.  Hookson  and  the  doctor  were  shaking  hands,  Mrs. 
Sharp  and  Miss  Sherwin  were  talking  excitedly  behind 


168  THE   SOPRANO. 

their  programmes,  while  little  Milly  peeped  over  the  top  of 
her  fan  with  eyes  brimful  of  happiness.  Towards  the  close 
of  the  chorus,  the  conductor  beckoned,  with  his  disenf ao-ed 

*  '  O    O 

hand,  for  me  to  rise  again.  Taking  the  pitch  from  the 
closing  chord,  I  recited  the  next  piece :  "And  all  they 
that  sat  in  council."  In  the  second  measure,  the  organ 
came  to  my  aid.  Now,  how  could  I  help  going  right,  with 
such  inspiring  surroundings,  and  such  an  accompaniment  ? 
The  music  simply  sang  itself,  or  rather,  recited  itself.  My 
part  over,  the  tenor  soloist,  in  the  character  of  "Stephen," 
began  softly  and  easily,  that  famous  sermon  set  to  music : 
"Men,  brethren,  and  fathers."  But  they  would  not  hear 
him,  and  the  chorus  broke  out  in  rebellion.  Like  a  sudden 
storm  the  music  rose  in  wild  chords  to  loudest  forte : 
"Take  him  away  —  Take  him  away.  He  shall  perish." 
Suddenly  the  uproar  ceased,  and  the  tenor  reasserted  itself. 
All  this  while,  I  had  been  standing,  knowing  I  should  be 
wanted  at  once. 

Immediately  I  heard  the  violins  take  up  the  soft,  airy 
prelude  of  my  first  aria.  How  could  I  fail  ?  Were  not  the 
streaming  violins  all  about  me  singing  the  music,  and 
almost  the  very  words  of  my  song  ?  Then  the  conductor, 
he  would  help  me  through  anything.  His  mere  presence 
was  an  inspiration,  and  an  assurance  of  success.  How  I 
counted  the  measure  of  that  quiet,  dreamy  prelude  !  I  was 
determined  to  begin  fair.  No  fear,  however,  for  the  con 
ductor  extended  his  disengaged  hand  before  me,  so  that  I 


THE   SOPRANO.  169 

could  see  it  plainly.  At  the  proper  place  the  pliant  fingers 
bade  me  sing:  "Jerusalem!  Thou  that  killest  the 
Prophets  ;  thou  that  stonest  them  which  are  sent  unto  thee. 
How  often  would  I  have  gathered  unto  me  thy  children, 
and  ye  would  not,  Jerusalem  !  " 

When  I  sat  down,  the  audience  went  wild.  I  never  saw 
people  act  so.  They  applauded  as  if  mad.  There  was  no 
occasion  for  such  an  uproar.  I  did  not  deserve  any  partic 
ular  credit.  If  I  sang  well,  it  was  because  I  could  not  help 
it.  The  violins,  and  the  conductor's  left  hand,  deserve  all 
the  praise.  They  sustained  me,  and  it  told  me  just  what  to 
do  for  every  measure.  When  I  was  to  sing  piano,  the 
fingers  spread  out  loosely;  to  sing  louder,  they  became 
rigid  and  more  animated  in  their  motions.  To  cease,  they 
closed,  and  all  the  while  gave  me  the  exact  time.  Besides, 
the  applause  was  not  in  good  taste ;  so  much  of  it  interrupted 
the  thread  of  the  story.  The  short  recitative  that  followed 
was  almost  unheard.  The  next  chorus  could  be  heard  plain 
enough. 

It  was  like  a  savage  tempest.  "  Stone  him  to  death ! 
Stone  him  to  death !  He  blasphemed  God !  He  shall 
perish  !  Stone  him  to  death  !  " 

Then  came  that  exquisite  recitative  and  choral,  known  as 
"  The  Death  of  St.  Stephen.  "  . 

After  that,  the  charming  chorus :  "  Happy  and  blest 
are  they  who  have  endurei." 


170  THE    SOPRANO. 

I  took  it  all  to  myself.  Had  I  not  endured  toil,  hunger,  dis 
appointment  and  sorrow,  and  now  had  I  succeeded.  I  knew 
it,  I  felt  sure  of  it.  "  Happy  and  blest "  was  I,  indeed. 

Then  followed  another  recitative,  and  a  long  bass  solo. 
The  singer  did  not  win  so  much  applause  as  I.  Why,  I 
ouild  not  understand,  except  that  he  did  not  speak  plainly. 
But  I  was  not  a  fair  judge,  being  too  near  him. 

Next  the  alto  beside  me  rose  to  sing.  The  aria  was 
new  to  me,  but  charmed  me  quite.  It  seemed  to  be  written, 
both  words  and  music,  for  me  :  — 

"  But  the  Lord  is  mindful  of  his  own, 
He  remembers  his  children ; 
Bow  down  before  him, 
For  the  Lord  is  near  as." 

I  could  not  help  singing  it  over  softly  to  myself,  and 
when  she  finished,  I  turned  to  her  and  thanked  her  for  her 
music,  and  for  her  correct  rendering  of  it. 

"  Did  it  please  you  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed.     It  was  well  done." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  I  do  try  so  hard;  but  then,"  said 
she,  suddenly,  "  who  could  help  singing  such  music  fitted  to 
those  words?" 

That  alto  young  lady  and  I  have  been  fast  friends  since 
that  night. 

Next  came  that  marvellous  piece  of  writing  known  as 


THE   SOPRANO.  .  171 

"The  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,"   followed  by  the  inspiring 
chorus,   "  Rise  up  and  shine." 

In  pleasing  contrast  came  that  sweet,  religious  choral. 
"  Sleepers,  wake  !  a  voice  is  calling."  I  recognized  at  once 
the  same  strain  that  opens  the  overture.  I  took  the  words 
and  music  to  myself:  — 

•*  Sleepers,  wake !  a  voice  is  calling; 
Arise,  and  take  your  lamps, 
His  kingdom  is  at  hand, 
Go  forth  to  meet  your  Lord." 

This  was  followed  by  a  bass  solo  and  a  chorus :  — • 

"  The  Lord,  he  is  good ; 
He  shall  dry  all  your  tears 
And  heal  all  your  sorrows." 

Then  the  tenor  and  I  had  a  short  duet.  I  sang  the  words 
at  the  close  with  all  my  heart:  "I  thank  God,  who  has 
made  me  free  through  Christ."  Truly,  I  had  every  reason 
to  thank  him,  and  I  did,  before  them  all,  though  but  a  few 
understood  me. 

This  over,  the  full  chorus  broke  out  in  loud,  exulting 
strains.     I  could  not  keep  quiet,  but  stood  up  and  joine  1 
them  with  heart  and  voice  :     "  Oh  !  great  is  the  depth  ol 
the  riches  of  wisdom,  and  knowledge  of  the  Father." 

This  ended  the  first  part,  and  I  retreated  with  the  rest  ti 


172  THE   SOPRANO. 

the  anteroom.  In  a  moment  they  all  came  in,  Miss  Sher- 
win,  the  doctor,  and  all.  The  gentlemen  shook  both  my 
hands  at  once,  the  ladies  kissed  me ;  so  did  Milly,  and  so 
did  everybody. 

"  Just  what  we  all  expected,  —  a  great  success." 

"  You  deserve  every  congratulation." 

"  You  have  done  me  very  great  credit,"  said  my  teacher. 

"  You  meant  what  you  said  in  that  last  line,  did  you 
not?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Sharp,  in  my  ear. 

"  Yes,  dear ;  I  did,  indeed." 


THE   SOPRANO.  173 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  HE,  WATCHING  OVER  ISRAEL,  SLUMBERS  NOT  NOR  SLEEPS."  —  Elijah. 

FROM  that  day  the  Lord  prospered  me.  Within  two 
months  I  found  myself  in  possession  of  five  hundred  dollars, 
clear  cash,  being  my  earnings  as  a  public  singer.  I  sent 
for  my  father,  and  he  has  travelled  and  lived  with  me  ever 
since. 

"  Now,  Julia,"  said  I,  "  tell  me,  please,  whatever  be 
came  of  your  first  friend,  the  organist?  Did  you  neyver 
meet  him  again  in  all  your  travels  ?  " 

"  Never.  I  have  watched  and  looked  for  him  these 
years ;  but  he  came  not.  I  never  once  heard  a  word  from 
him,  excepting  a  rumor  that  he  went  to  the  war  in  some 
eastern  regiment.  Many  a  time  have  I  looked  for  him,  but 
in  vain.  I  thought  I  did  not  love  him ;  but  I  am  afraid  I 
did." 

"Why  afraid,  Julia?  'Perfect  love  casteth  out 
fear.'  " 

"  Afraid  that  I  have  done  wrong.  I  flung  him  one  side, 
because  I  thought  he  stood  in  my  way.  In  these  long 


174  THE    SOPRANO. 

years  of  toil  and  waiting,  how  he  could  have  helped  me 
with  his  knowledge  and  sympathy !  I  have  thought  that 
perhaps  my  trials  were  a  punishment  for  my  harshness  to 
him." 

"  Do  not  think  that.     It  is  morbid  and  unnatural." 

"I  try  not  to,  knowing,  as  I  do  now,  that  everything 
that  is,  is  for  the  best,  if  we  but  knew  it." 

"Yes,  dear,  that  is  very  true.  'He,  watching  over 
Israel,  slumbers  not  nor  sleeps.' ' 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Jane.  I  like  the  sen 
timent,  and  like  to  hear  you  use  the  quotation.  It  brings  to 
mind,  not  only  the  words,  but  the  music.  I  have  quite  a 
store  of  quotations  from  the  oratorios,  that  serve  me  in 
need.  The  mere  sound  of  the  music  brings  up  the  senti 
ment,  and  often  a  crowd  of  recollections  and  associations 
that  cluster  round  each  strain.  I  never  sing  '  I  know  that 
my  Redeemer  liveth,'  without  having  my  mother's  face  rise 
before  me.  When  I  sing  it  in  public,  I  always  lose  all 
thought  of  self,  and  see  once  more  our  little  church  in 
Rockford,  and  hear  again  Frank's  organ.  I  have  often 
wondered,  if  somewhere  in  the  audience  I  might  not  find 
his  face.  Perhaps  he  would  hear  my  voice,  and  recognize 
the  very  tone  and  expression  I  then  used,  and  perhaps  he 
would  come  to  me  —  and  I  should  be  happy." 

"  Do  you  still  love  him.  dear?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  Perhaps  he  has  changed  greatly.  It 
is  a  long  time  since  we  met.  It  may  be  he  is  dead." 


THE   SOPRANO.  175 

This  she  said,  slowly  and  dreamily,  gazing  with  wistful 
eyes  at  the  fire.  For  a  few  moments  we  were  silent.  Feel 
ing  restless  and  warm,  I  got  up  and  wandered  aimlessly 
about  the  room,  staring  mechanically  at  the  books  and 
pictures.  Soon  I  came  to  the  piano.  On  the  rack  was  a 
music-book.  Opening  it  at  random,  I  began  to  play. 
J  ulia  recognized  the  music  at  once,  and  at  the  proper  place 
began  to  sing  softly  to  herself,  as  she  sat  by  the  fire  : 
"  He,  watching  over  Israel,  slumbers  not  nor  sleeps."  When 
it  reached  the  alto,  I,  too,  joined  in,  and  we  went  on  singing 
our  parts,  and  giving  the  piano  the  bass  and  tenor.  Though 
she  had  her  back  to  me,  yet  she  sang  on  without  mistake. 
The  music  must  have  been  very  familiar  to  her.  Suddenly 
she  stood  upright,  and,  taking  the  tenor  part,  poured  forth 
the  full  power  of  her  magnificent  voice  :  "  Should'st  thou, 
walking  in  grief,  languish,  he  will  quicken  thee." 

' '  0  Jane,  is  it  not  glorious  ?  How  could  we  fail  to 
believe  those  words,  when  fitted  to  such  music?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  still  playing  on,  ''all  really  great  music 
is  sacred  to  me,  and,  when  fitted  to  sacred  words,  it  makes 
for  me  a  second  Bible." 

Soon  I  reached  the  last  page  of  the  chorus,  and,  standing 
near  me,  she  joined  her  voice  with  mine  :  "He  slumbers 
not  nor  sleeps." 

"  That  is  very  true.     Is  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  Julia,  your  story  proves  that.     How  could  you 


176  THE   SOPRANO. 

have  gone  through  all  you  did,  if  He  had  slumbered  —  for 
getting  you?" 

"If  my  story  makes  you  helieve  it,  I'm  glad  I  told  it 
you.  Now,  dear,  when  am  I  to  have  your  story  ?  " 

"  Not  this  evening.  See,  it  is  almost  ten.  Livingston 
will  come  for  me  soon." 

"  Livingston  !     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  My  Frank." 

"Have  you  a  Frank?'" 

"  Yes.  His  name  is  Frank  Livingston  Grinnell.  I  am 
engaged  to  him." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ?  Truly,  I  am  glad  to 
hear  you  are  happy  in  that  direction.  I  have  wealth, 
education,  society,  and  a  career.  Yet  I  am  not  happy,  not 
having  love  too.  We  are  so  selfish,  you  know.  We  want 
all  the  good  gifts." 

"  Perhaps  you  will  have  them  all  in  time.  You  may  find 
your  Frank  yet.  If  you  should,  and  I  think  you  will,  I 
shall  want  to  see  you,  for  if  you  were  to  sing,  you  would 
astonish  the  world  with  the  brilliancy  of  your  music.  Let 
me  see,  what  would  you  sing  in  that  event?  Oh,  I 
know  :  :  Rejoice  greatly  ! ' 

"  No,  dear ;  not  that.  If  so  great  a  happiness  were  to 
come  to  me,  I  should  wish  all  the  world  to  share  my  joy; 
I  should  break  forth  into  singing." 

And  she  did,  filling  the  room  with  that  noble  strain  from 


THE   SOPRANO.  177 

the   Hymn  of  Praise :     "  All  that  hath  life  and   breath 
sing  to  the  Lord." 

After  a  pause,  she  said,  "  Really,  Jane,  I  wish  you 
could  give  me  a  part  of  your  life  history,  as  I  have  given 
you  mine." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  would  interest  you  much.  It  is  not 
half  so  entertaining  as  the  story  of  Livingston's  life  experi 
ence.  He,  like  you,  was  passionately  fond  of  music,  but 
could  not  make  business  and  music  agree,  and  therefore 
continually  fell  into  trouble.  He  was  in  a  very  deep  slough 
of  despond,  when  I  first  met  him  ;  but  he  did  not  stay  there 
long  after  that.'' 

"  And  you  were  the  dear  good  girl  who  helped  him  out, 
—  were  you  not?" 

"  Perhaps  so." 

"  It  is  just  like  you,  Jane." 

"  Now,  Julia,  before  I  go,  let  me  ask  you  one  question. 
What  is  the  good  of  your  story  ?  I  could  not  go  through 
all  that  you  did,  nor  would  friends  rise  up  to  help  me  in 
such  a  marvellous  way.  Is  it  not  an  impossible  sort  of  a 
theory  of  musical  education  you  have  advanced  ?  You 
might  compass  it ;  but  can  the  common  run  of  girls  imi 
tate  you?" 

"I  could   not   say,  not  knowing   the   girls  personally. 

Borne  could,  others  could  not.     I  do  know,  however,  that 

perseverance,  labor,  patience,  and  a  brave  heart,  if  rightly 

applied,  are  equal  to  anything.     As  for  friends,  those  who 

12 


178  THE   SOPRANO. 

are  worthy  of  them  always  find  them.  I  fancy  it  is  almost 
always  our  own  fault  if  we  do  not  prosper  in  life." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  the  lame  or  the  lazy,  like  me?  " 

"  If  I  were  very  wicked,  I  should  say  that  '  the  Lord  is 
ever  mindful  of  them.'  " 

"  I  am  surprised  at  your  levity." 

Just  then  she  went  to  the  bell,  and  gave  it  a  pull,  saying, 
"Well,  forgive  me,  dear.  Now  I  am  going  to  order  a  little 
supper,  and  we  will  receive  your  friend  with  all  the  honors. 
When  he  comes,  let  us,  for  once,  forget  that  we  are  anything 
but  girls." 

In  a  few  minutes  an  elegant  lunch  appeared,  and  Living 
ston  arrived.  He  was  soon  introduced,  and  made  to  feel 
quite  at  home. 

The  supper  was  splendid,  and  we  had  a  royal  good  time. 
My  irrepressible  nature  burst  all  bounds,  and  I  was  very, 
Tery  jolly. 

Livingston  beamed  upon  us,  like  the  fatherly  young  man 
that  he  is,  and  Julia  fairly  shone,  just  like  the  brilliant 
creature  she  is. 

At  eleven,  the  party  broke  up,  and  we  took  our  departure. 
At  the  door,  Julia  bade  us  good-night. 

"  Remember,  Jane,  the  next  time  I  come  this  way,  you 
are  to  tell  me  your  story." 

"Yes,  dear,  mine  or  some  one  else's.     Good-night." 

"Good-night." 

As  wo  passed  down  the  hotel  stairs  we  heard  a  piano,  and 


THE   SOPRANO.  179 

some  one  singing.  Pausing  a  moment  to  listen,  we  both 
recognized  the  strain:  "He,  watching  over  Israel,  slum 
bers  not  nor  sleeps." 

So  it  was  that  God  gave  to  us  two  girls  different  gifts,  — 
music  and  love. 

Which  received  the  best  gift? 

God  knows. 


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